


Elements of Life

by tres_mechante



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Language, Multi, Post-Call of the Wild, Reference to Drug Use, Violence, dark themes, see notes for more detailed warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tres_mechante/pseuds/tres_mechante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  Set post CotW. They survived the Quest for the Hand of Franklin, but an impulsive act and an unguarded reaction drives a wedge between them, shattering their hearts and lives. Now they must embark on a different kind of Quest. Over the course of a decade, Ray and Fraser find themselves on separate journeys, one that may eventually bring them to where they are truly meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Approximately 41,600 words are the main story; the rest belong to a bonus chapter.
> 
> Warnings -- Dark themes; angst; violence (non-explicit description of a child's murder); drug use; reference to suicide, reference to promiscuity, supernatural elements (ghosts other than Dead Bob); moral ambiguity
> 
> The story spans almost 10 years. Each chapter jumps to a different point in time. Ray's pov and Fraser's pov do not always mesh, but they are all part of the same story. In some respects, it is like there are two stories until they become one story again.
> 
> Acknowledgements -- Truly it takes a village. Thank you to (in no particular order) Emma and the gang at ficfinishing; the enthusiastic gang at ds_c6d_bigbang; hazelwho for the challenging and fun weekly meme-thingies that helped me to create back story (many of the results can be found sprinkled throughout the story) thousand_miles for the beta and questions; andeincascade who was first reader, cheerleader and beta all rolled into one. Any remainin errors are mine because a) I'm stubborn, and/or b) I cannot resist last-minute tweaking of fic.
> 
> And last, but most assuredly not least, my fabulous artists:  
> surya74 - [Cover Art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/226906)  
> zelempa - [Chapter Panels](http://archiveofourown.org/works/234701); thumbnails are sprinkled through the story.  
> Thank you both so very much!

_No question the fires were devastating. They wiped out huge sections of old-growth forest, took out a dozen cabins and killed three people. But, here's the thing: after it was all over things came back – new growth. You can still see the scars from the fire, but they're fading, being erased by the new trees that can finally grow because they have the space. I heard some farmers do that, set fires to burn off stubble so they can plant new crops. --- Jake Schaefer, forest ranger, killed in forest fire, 1983. (excerpt from 'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased')_  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 

 **  
_[RayK pov]_   
**

Ray pulled the last of their gear from the back of the truck and added it to the pile on the ground. He looked around but seemed to be the only one doing any work.

"Yo! Fraser!" He frowned at the silence. "I'm serious man, there's no way I'm hauling this crap by myself – get your ass over here!" The continued silence unnerved him a little.

Ray had gotten used to the silence on the trail. While the sled was in motion, there was little talk; the only sounds were the dogs and Fraser's occasional comments to the aforementioned dogs. They talked when they set up camp, but even then everything seemed...hushed. This silence, however, felt like trouble. Even the Diefster was missing.

Quietly – thank you for the lessons, Frase – he moved into the shadow of the big shed and scanned the area. Nothing appeared out of place – not that he'd necessarily know what was out of place – but nothing screamed "Danger Will Robinson" so he carefully made his way around the side of the shed to get a better view of the cabin.

His first thought was that he'd give one hell of a lot to have his gun. This second thought was that he was an idiot. Ray backtracked and carefully made his way to the truck, trying to keep the snow from crunching too loudly under his feet. He ducked behind the vehicle and made his way to the passenger side where he reached into the open window and pulled the rifle from its resting place. He reached in a little further and snagged the box of ammo. While not a hunter of Fraser's caliber – so to speak – he was a very good shoot, especially when properly motivated. The current situation definitely counted as motivation.

Ray crouched behind the truck and loaded the rifle before shoving a handful of shells into assorted pockets. He chambered the first shot and stealthily made his way back to his previous position. The pile of firewood provided good cover, giving him a chance to scope out the cabin. Seeing the way clear, he dashed to the cabin, stopping just around the corner from the door. As much as he wanted to just bust down the door, he knew he had to get some kind of intel as to what was going on inside.

For all he knew, Fraser was taking a nap and the last thing he wanted to do was scare the shit out of him. Although, if he _was_ taking a nap he was going to get his ass kicked but good.

The kitchen window was open – they'd opened the windows when they first arrived and the kitchen was only a few feet away so he crept closer to it. He was almost directly under the window when he heard the voices, well Fraser's voice, anyway. Unfortunately the man was speaking too quietly for Ray to really pick up on what he was saying.

Okay. That didn't sound so bad – just a conversation. He wanted a quick peak before going in, but unfortunately the window was just a little bit too high. He quickly looked around and spied an old milk crate a few feet away so he crept over to it and set it upside down under the window. Ray stepped up on it but was careful to keep his head low. He listened for a moment to the muffled flow of his the voice coming from inside the cabin before carefully peaking in.

Fraser was the only one there, except for Dief who sat in front of him. However, Fraser wasn't talking to Dief; he was talking to the wall.

Huh. Ray had been pretty sure that HE was going to be the one to crack during the Great Adventure, not Fraser. Ray was feeling a bit insulted; he didn't think being trapped with him on the trail would be enough to break Super Mountie.

Stepping off the crate, he walked back to the door, rifle pointed down but still ready just in case. Of what, he wasn't sure.

He was careful to make some noise on the steps. "Yo, Frase!" he called as he opened the door. "Tell me the coffee's on."

Ray stepped inside, gun carefully _casually_ cradled over his arm. A quick glance showed only Fraser and Dief were there, no evidence of anyone else having been there recently.

"Hello Ray."

Ray had to grin at the casual 'haven't seen you for a while, how've you been' tone of Fraser's voice. It was a dead giveaway that something was up. However, experience had taught him that a direct offensive would only result in his buddy dig in deep and Ray would never be able to get a straight answer.

"How's the negotiations going? You have a list of demands yet?"

"Pardon?"

Ray fought to keep the grin off his face. Confused was a good look on Fraser.

"Well, you're on strike, right? I mean, one minute we're hauling all that crap out of the truck and the next you disappear like you were never there. And here you are sitting in comfort while your _guest_ does all the work." Ray shrugged. "It was either you went on strike or were abducted by little green men from Mars."

Fraser gave him a bemused smile. "Don't be silly, Ray. Everyone knows they're grey and come from Pluto." He nodded toward the rifle. "I would be obliged if you'd put the safety back on that."

Bastard. How was he supposed to stay pissed off? Ray engaged the safety and set the rifle aside.

"Can't be too careful, Frase," said Ray. "I turned around and you were gone; even Dief was missing. And no one answered when I called, so…I figured it wouldn't hurt to be prepared."

"Ah."

"You know how it is; you can take the boy out of Chicago, but can't take Chicago out of the boy."

Fraser got an odd look on his face but it was gone before Ray had a chance to interpret it.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't mean to worry you. I was momentarily distracted by a note left on the door and I-"

"Note about what?"

"It Isn't important," said Fraser, shoving a piece of paper in his pocket. "It can wait until later."

He started to push a bit more but Fraser just ushered him to the door, calling for Dief to follow. Ray allowed himself to be distracted but made a mental note to continue the conversation a little later.

It took a couple of hours to get their gear stowed to Fraser's standards. A former colleague of Fraser's had been by the previous day to fire up the generator and air out the cabin – even the pantry had been restocked. He'd have to remember to thank Constable Letourneau for sneaking in the package of chocolate cupcakes.

Dinner was a rich split pea soup that tasted a whole heck of a lot better than it looked. They spent the evening in front of the fire, feet up and totally not inclined to move. Even Dief was sprawled out in front of the fire like he was auditioning for the position of wolf-skin rug.

Fraser reached over and patted Ray's arm. "Thank you."

Ray turned his head lazily. "For what? Doing all the heavy lifting when you took that unauthorized break?"

Dief made a soft whuffing sound that could easily have been interpreted as a laugh. In fact, that is exactly how Ray chose to interpret it. He looked over at Dief who was looking back at him. In the flickering firelight, he'd almost swear Dief winked at him.

Definitely time to call it a night.

"Thank you for joining me on The Quest," said Fraser, and Ray swore he could hear the capital letters in the Mountie's voice.

“Hey, I’m the one who should be thanking YOU. It really was an adventure, you know? I never imagined anything more—" he broke off, unable to find the right word. "Well, it was better than I could have imagined and I've got a pretty good imagination, let me tell you."

"Of that I have no doubt." Fraser's voice was teasing and his gaze fond.

"Smart ass," he said, returning Fraser's gaze with a look that was probably just a little sappy. Without even thinking about it he reached over to pat Fraser's hand, and felt warm all over when Fraser turned his hand so they could link fingers.

"I'm glad you're here, Ray."

"Me, too, Benton-buddy. No place I'd rather be."

They shared soft smiles, and Ray could feel something indefinable shift between them. Not even thinking about what he was doing, Ray shifted and turned until he was closer to Fraser and facing him. Fraser squirmed around to face Ray, never letting go of his hand.

"Oh, yeah," whispered Ray, feeling the sudden rush of adrenaline. He reached out to cup his hand around Fraser's neck, pulling him in close. Ray leaned in a little more and kissed his best friend.

Fraser's lips were soft beneath his, pliant but there was no participation in the kiss. Suddenly Ray was alone on the sofa and Fraser was backing away, tripping over Dief in the process.

"Ray, stop."

"The hell?" He straightened up and started to stand but stopped when Fraser back away even more. "You mind telling me what's going on?"

"We're _friends_ Ray."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. I also thought we were moving toward something more."

Fraser shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ray. Truly. But I – we – this is wrong," he said, taking another step to put the rocking chair between them.

Ray felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He knew Fraser could be a little rigid about some things but never took him for bigot.

"You don't have to go acting like somebody's maiden aunt, there Fraser. All you got to do is say no. I'm not going to jump you."

"I know that!" snapped Fraser peevishly. "Ray, this…thing, it just isn't--"

Dief retreated to the far side of the room and whined.

"Yeah, I got the message." He stood up, rubbing his scalp. "So, where do you want me to bunk down? Assuming it's okay to stay the night, I mean."

"How can you – of course you can stay here, Ray."

"Didn't want to assume anything. I already fucked up by making an assumption."

"Ray-"

"Look, I'll stay out here and you have the bedroom, okay? Sofa's plenty big enough for me."

"Ray-"

"I'll look into a getting a room in town in the morning."

"Now you really are being silly, Ray. Of course you will stay here." Fraser's look was tentative. "Please, take the bedroom. It's all right – _we're_ all right."

"Yeah?"

"I promise."

Ray felt himself relax slightly. "Okay. That's good." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah, okay. It's been a long day and we could probably both use a little shut-eye."

"Exactly. You take the bedroom. I think you'll benefit from a good night's sleep."

"We both will."

"But you especially, Ray."

Ray went to grab his pack from the entryway. "Yeah? How do you figure that?" he asked, grunting as he hefted the bag to his shoulder.

Fraser cleared his throat. "You must admit, Ray, that your, uh, earlier actions were somewhat out of character?"

"Somewhat out of character?" parroted Ray slowly. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"I should think it obvious, Ray, even in your exhausted state. You are not a man to…make a play for another man, as it were."

"Oh?"

"You were married for many years – and your, well, your obsession with your former wife is very well known, as are your flirtations with a variety of women." Fraser shrugged. "In short, Ray, you are most definitely heterosexual, possibly even somewhere very close to a one on the Kinsey scale."

Ray felt his blood pressure rise. "You sound very sure of that, Fraser buddy."

"We've known each other a long time, Ray. I like to think I know you quite well – well enough to understand that exhaustion and an extended period of being in close proximity prompted your uncharacteristic behavior a few minutes ago."

Fraser sounded a little too 'know-it all' for Ray's liking. “You know, you might want to consider that you really don’t know me as well as you think you do,” snapped Ray.

“On the contrary, we’ve spent a great deal of time together over the past two years and I believe being on the quest only enhanced that knowledge of one another.” Fraser drew himself up to his full height. “In fact, I can prove it.”

Ray crossed his arms and leaned against the door. He just stared and Fraser and waited.

Fraser cleared his throat and said, “Two facts and a lie.”

Ray opened his mouth but had no idea how to respond. “Okay, that kinda came out of left field.”

“It’s a game, Ray. You tell two facts and one lie about yourself and others have to determine which one is the untruth.”

“You’re not going to let this go are you?” Ray shrugged. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“I’ll just start then.” Fraser looked out the window for a few moments before looking back at Ray. “I sometimes like to wear women’s clothing under my uniform…I actually enjoy doing paperwork, bringing order to chaos as it were… I’m addicted to sweets.”

“Frase, I know about the cross dressing thing. You were wearing them when you had to get out of your uniform in a hurry after getting doused with pesticide that time. You’re fast at changing, but white satin and lace panties tend to stand out.”

Fraser blushed and looked away.

“I also know you’re the one who’s been snitching my M&Ms because Dief can’t reach them on top of the fridge.” Ray knew he was smirking, but couldn’t help it. “And finally, I grant you, you do like things a certain way, but the way your right eye twitches every time you fill in a form tells me joy isn’t what you’re feeling.”

Fraser beamed. “You see? We know each other very well.”

Ray shook his head. “Those aren’t exactly deeply personal things, Benton-buddy,” he said sadly. “You want to play? Fine. I keep hearing voices in my head telling me stuff – some good, some bad – and when I was a kid I told my folks, Pop smacked me and told me to stop upsetting my mom. I did a stint in narcotics and got hooked on some bad shit while trying to keep my cover. Back at the Police Academy I slept – in the biblical sense – with my roomie.”

He watched Fraser’s reaction carefully. “Come on, buddy. Which one’s the lie?” When Fraser continued to remain silent, Ray straightened from his position and grabbed his pack. “Like I said, you don’t know me as well as you think.” He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, carefully closing it behind him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
[](http://merples.com/art/Elements_fire.jpg)  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 

 **  
_[Fraser pov]_   
**

Fraser sat on the front step and watched Diefenbaker chase a rabbit around the yard. The rabbit seemed to be teasing the half-wolf, who showed no inclination to actually hunt; he was clearly in the mood to play. Diefenbaker had become a city dog.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Ray and their current situation. At least they were talking this morning, but conversation was strained; polite, but almost impersonal. Fraser felt as though he were back in Depot just getting to know the other recruits.

He just didn't know what had come over his friend – Ray had never shown any indication he was open to male…companionship – beyond friendship, anyway. It just never occurred to him that Ray could be like that. Was there something he's missed?

Fraser bowed his head. He knew he'd reacted badly, but Ray had taken him by surprise. The instinctive reaction had been brought on by the training of his childhood, the attitudes absorbed by the villages where he'd lived, and reinforced at Depot in the culture of machismo.

And because he couldn't suppress the attitudes ingrained in him pretty much all his life, he was going to lose the best friend he ever had.

He looked down at the crumpled note in his hand. He didn't have to read it; he knew the contents by heart. Fraser had spent years trying to earn a transfer home, and the Canadian Government had finally seen fit to forgive him his trespasses and transfer him back to the land of his birth. He had also been given his choice of three start dates and postings.

Fraser hugged himself against a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. He'd known before embarking on The Quest that his transfer had been approved, but he had never quite found a way to broach the subject. Of course, that also meant there had been no discussion of declining the transfer and returning to Chicago with Ray.

As far as Fraser was concerned, it was a foregone conclusion that Ray would not want to stay in the North. Ray was city-bred – and from the United States. He had no place in the Canadian North.

He was pulled from his musings by Diefenbaker, who nudged his hand and rested his head on Fraser's knee. As Fraser pet his long-time friend, looking into his eyes, he had the impression of _worrypacklove_.

"Please don't worry," said Fraser. "Things will be alright. Somehow. I hope." He bent forward to bury his face in Diefenbaker's ruff.

Diefenbaker whined and looked at the door. _alonepain_

"He's not alone; he has family. And now that the undercover operation is over he can go back to being himself."

 _alonepacklovepack_

Fraser thought about that for a few minutes. He sat up and grasped Diefenbaker's muzzle and force him to make eye contact. He spoke slowly and carefully, wanting to make sure there were no misunderstandings. There'd been too many already.

"I have a very difficult favour to ask."

A soft woof was the response.

"I want you to protect Ray. I want," Fraser paused to swallow around the lump in his throat. "I want you to go back to Chicago with him and keep him safe."

He was answered with a low whine and received the impression of _packhurtsorrowlove_

"I know he's hurting."

 _alphapain_

"I'm not the one who was hurt." He paused and considered the situation. "Okay, yes, I see your point. The biases and prejudices passed on to me have…have created a situation where I hurt my dearest friend and now I'm suf-suffering, paying for those sins."

 _lovelovelove_

"Thank you, Diefenbaker. I feel great affection for you, too. And yes, for Ray as well."

 _protectpacklove_

"That's why I'm asking you to go with him. I trust you as I trust no one else to keep him safe. And, he'll – at least I hope he'll understand how sorry I am." Fraser ruffled Diefenbaker's fur. "Honestly, I don't know what else to do."

 _lostpainpack_

"We've been together your whole life, and I realize this will be difficult, but…" Fraser barely muffled a sob. "Please Diefenbaker. I-I need you to do this."

 _protectlovepack_

"Thank you." Fraser gave a final pat and resolutely stood up. "I have some things to take care of in town. I'll just let Ray know and head out. You stay here with him."

 _loveprotect packlove_

The ride to the airport two days later was somewhat strained, but significantly better than the atmosphere at the cabin had been even a day previously. Fraser had finally managed to talk about his upbringing and the warnings about what had been known simply as 'perversion'. As he'd told Ray the night before, Fraser had no idea that the attitudes of others had become so deeply imbedded in his own psyche.

Ray had forgiven him, but the aura of sadness and pain had remained a near-tangible thing between them.

 

Inside what passed for the local airport, the three of them settled in to wait until the plane was ready.

“So. When’s the new posting start?” Ray spoke to him but kept his focus on Diefenbaker.

“A little over three weeks, but in the meantime I’ve also accepted an invitation to tour some of the other outposts – get reacquainted with the politics and developments in the territories.”

“Good, that’s good. So you’ll be busy.”

“Yes, very. In between the tours I’ll have to get the cabin ready to be closed up again.” Fraser steeled himself. He had to do this now; the pilot would be calling for passengers at any moment. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a large folded envelope which he gave held out to Ray.

Diefenbaker eyed the envelope and Fraser drew courage from the waves of _loveprotectpacklove_.

“What’s this?” asked Ray, tentatively taking the envelope and opening it.

Fraser couldn't breathe; the stress of the moment was crushing him.

"Frase? What the hell?" He leafed through the pages, shaking his head as he read. Finally he looked up. "I don't get it. You- you're giving me Dief?"

"That would be absurd, Ray. Diefenbaker is a sentient being – one can't just _give_ a sentient being to someone." He stopped his train of thought before he derailed. "The fact is that I will be travelling extensively – a situation that would not be good for Diefenbaker. And even when I'm settled at my post, the accommodations won't be suitable for him – he'll be left alone too much of the time and...what I'm trying to say is, I had hoped you would agree to adopt him."

Diefenbaker chose that moment to nuzzled Ray's hands and paw at his knee. Predictably, Ray melted under the half-wolf's attention.

"Fraser – Ben – I... are you sure about this – I mean really sure?"

Fraser nodded. "I honestly believe it would be for the best."

"I-I'm honoured that you trust me with him. I'll take care of him, I promise." He scratched Diefenbaker behind he the ears. "You know, you can see him whenever you want, right? Come visit maybe..."

His throat closed up and he had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak. "Thank you, Ray."

They were interrupted when the pilot walked over to let them know they were almost ready to leave.

Fraser gave Diefenbaker a final pat while Ray stuffed the veterinary and ownership transfer papers in his duffle bag. "Well."

Ray smiled sadly. "Well."

The pilot called out for Ray.

"I gotta..." he pointed to the plane.

"I know." Not knowing what else to say, Fraser pulled Ray into a hug. It was awkward, he didn't quite know how to wrap his arms around Ray's slender frame, but was immeasurably relieved when Ray simply hugged him back. "Stay safe."

"You, too, Benton-buddy," said Ray, pulling away slowly. "Listen, uh, I'm probably going to be reassigned and things will probably be kind of unsettled until I get a place where Dief'll have some room. What I'm trying to say is, it'll probably be a while before I'm all set up with an apartment and phone, but Welsh'll know where to find me, okay?"

"You're apartment--"

"Yeah, the lease was up, so I figured, what the hell, time to move on." Ray frowned. "I thought you knew. Oh wait, that was when you were bouncing between Ottawa and Chicago, so I guess you didn't know about that."

Fraser was stunned. Had Ray been planning to stay...with him?

"But don't worry. Me and Dief will be settled before you know it and I'll let you know where we're at, okay? I saw you included a contact number."

The sound of a plane engine revving caught their attention. Ray hefted his bag and backed away. Fraser tried to return his smile but was unsure if he succeeded. He chanced at last look at Diefenbaker and was almost overwhelmed with the feelings of _lovesorrowlostlovelove_.

"Goodbye," he whispered as his two friends disappeared through the door.

Fraser waited until the plane moved away from the building before going back out to his truck. Seated inside he started the engine but waited until the plane passed overhead before putting it in gear.

Benton Fraser was alone. Again.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic, Son."

Fraser never flinched but he did send a glare to his father.

"We said goodbye. Why are you still here?"

"That's a fine way to talk to your father," said the senior Fraser. "I excused your abruptness back at the cabin because you were just coming off the trail and spending all that time with the Yank would likely be enough to try anyone's patience—"

"That's enough, Dad. I don't want to hear anything else you have to say about Ray."

"Well, then, let's talk about you."

"Me?"

"Your mother is quite worried about you. She's afraid you'll end up a bitter old man."

"She actually said that?"

"Well, not in so many words, but the meaning was clear."

Fraser said nothing.

Bob fidgeted for a moment and finally sighed. "She told me to fix the mess I made or I'd be sleeping on the floor from now until Kingdom come."

That caught Fraser's attention. "What mess?"

"Son, I'm afraid I may have done you a grave disservice." Bob continued to look out the front windshield. "I shouldn't have left you with your grandparents – your Uncle Bertram would have taken you in and maybe a city upbringing would have...benefitted you."

"Grandmother and Grandfather said he--"

"You can't take what they said as gospel. Bert was a good man. He'd have – Bert and his friend would have seen to it you had the best education Montreal could provide." Bob sat up straighter but still did not look at Fraser. "Your grandparents were wrong about him. He was a-a good man."

"You talked about raids at--"

"I talked about enforcing the law. I'm not proud of the way I acted back then. I was wrong, Benton. And I am more sorry than I can say that you've missed out on so much, missed so many opportunities for friendship because of my – our – narrow thinking."

Fraser chanced a look at his father. "Dad, I--"

"That's not to say you aren't an idiot," said Bob.

"Excuse me?"

"You're my son; of course I'll excuse you." He finally turned to look at Fraser. "At least, Caroline tells me you're my son. Personally I have a hard time believing that any child of mine can be so stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Face it, Son, if stupidity was a terminal disease you'd be dead by now."

"Dad!"

"I admit I'm not over fond of the Americans, but that Yank isn't so bad. I never thought he'd be able to tough out being on the trail, but, by damn, he proved himself. I'd have been honoured to call him my partner." He dad glared at him. "I can't believe you let him go – and you gave him your dog."

"Half-wolf, and – and I have no idea what we're even talking about."

"Worst thing in the world is for a man to be alone, Son. That man would have made a damn fine partner for you."

"He wouldn’t have been able to be my partner, dad, you know that. The RCMP regulations--"

"I wasn't talking about law enforcement, Son."

The car swerved slightly as Fraser tried to process that.

"You don't mean—Dad, I'm not like that!"

"The hell you say."

"You don't even know me. How can you--"

"We've gotten to know each other since I've been dead, Benton. And let me tell you, death brings a certain clarity of vision, and an acceptance of truth."

"I'm happy that you find death agreeable, but don't see what that has to do with me."

"And that just goes to prove my point," sighed Bob. "As you wish; I'll spell it out for you. Benton, you are in love with that man and you are a fool for letting him go."

"I told you I'm not--"

"No need to get defensive. I told you, things tend to become clearer after death. Your mother agrees with me about this, by the way." Bob settled back into his seat and resumed looking out the window. "Face it, Son; you are as queer as a three dollar bill."

Fraser had to fight for control of the truck when it skidded off the road. Once he was safely stopped he turned to confront his father, but he had disappeared.

It took almost 30 minutes before Fraser could pull himself together enough to drive.


	2. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post CotW. They survived the Quest for the Hand of Franklin, but an impulsive act and an unguarded reaction drives a wedge between them, shattering their hearts and lives. Now they must embark on a different kind of Quest. Over the course of a decade, Ray and Fraser find themselves on separate journeys, one that may eventually bring them to where they are truly meant to be.

_Momma always said the earth was a womb just waiting to birth something. It's probably why she loved gardening to so much. Put this little bitty nothing-looking seed in the dirt and before you know it you got flowers or vegetables or something. I buried her out back near the poplars; nothing ever grew out there. The next spring, though, there were wild roses growing – swear to God. ---Charlotte Burnell, 43, died in prison, 1955. (excerpt from 'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased')_  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 

 **  
_[RayK pov]_   
**

 

He lit a cigarette and paced another lap around the room. Everything was going to hell and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.

He stopped at the window and peeked through the blinds. It was almost dark enough to leave.

A soft whimper drew his attention and he went back to the bedroom. Dief was on the bed, pretty much out of it, although he tried to move. Ray stretched out on the bed beside him and dug fingers deep into the thick fur.

“Sorry, buddy. This is the way it’s got to be. I know you’d follow if you could, but I can't let you do that. It would kill Frase if anything happened to you. But don’t worry, I asked Vecchio to look out for you, get you back north to Fraser if possible.”

Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Dief's head. "Bye buddy. You take care of Fraser, 'kay? Thank you for coming back with me." Dief's eyes closed and stayed closed; he was out cold.

Ray sat up again, feeling fine tremors deep inside. It was time.

Ray wandered back out to the kitchen and looked down at the table. Several envelopes were fanned out on the surface; he touched each one – Welsh, Vecchio, Stella, his folks, the rat bastards at I.A. who'd hung him out to dry with this assignment, and even Fraser, although he didn’t know where he was. The freak had changed his post – again – and no one was talking about where he’d shipped off to. He hoped Vecchio could find him, for Dief's sake.

He'd done everything he could for the ones who'd be left behind, made it easy to wrap up his sorry state of affairs. Ray never went undercover expecting to die, but this time…this time the voices in his head told him he wouldn't be walking away. He'd learned to listen to those voices; they were never wrong. This time they were telling him that when the sun came up, Stanley Raymond Kowalski would be dead.

His body was screaming for another fix, but he had to keep it together, just a little longer. When it was all done, the clawing _need_ wouldn’t matter anymore.

He dropped his keys on the table and left the apartment, setting the lock and closing the door behind him without so much as a backward glance. By the time he hit the street, Ray Kowalski was gone and Shawn Vickers – small-time hood with dreams of something bigger – was on his way to the meeting that would change his life.

He walked quickly, looking around, suspicious of everyone who crossed his path.

The voices whispered to him, their urgency matching the quickness of his steps, describing everything they knew about the cliff he was about to throw himself over.

 _…death waits... madnessmadness… no escape… hate booming out… loud… painpainpain… fire and death… bitter rain tainted earth… betrayal… betrayal… betrayal…not alone… not alone… not alone… remember… remember…_

 

"Shawn, my boy, I'm so glad you could make it!"

Ray jumped slightly and whirled on the man who'd called him. "Jesus, Ferguson, wear a bell or something, why don't ya!" he snarled.

"A little twitchy there, boyo? Maybe you need something to help settle the nerves." Ferguson held out a small plastic bag. "On the house."

Ray twitched, hunger – _want_ – burning deep, but he managed a nonchalant shrug. "Business before pleasure," he said. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm less than pro, now, would we?"

"We may be able to do business, after all." Ferguson tossed him the bag. "For later," he said, watching as Ray quickly shoved the bag in his back pocket.

The big Irishman led Ray to a car and handed him a blindfold. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," said Ray as he slid the mask over his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

Once they were settled, the car took off. Ray didn't bother trying to figure out their route. He just put his head back and dozed as best he could with the hunger thrumming through his body.

"Wake up, my boy. It's show time."

Ray pulled off the blindfold was the car door was opened. He looked around curiously. They were in front of what appeared to be a bakery, but he didn't recognize the name or neighborhood. At Ferguson's urging, he went inside, and was led through the store to a staircase in the rear of the building.

As soon as they reached the top, a nervous looking man hurried over and whispered something to him.

"Apparently I have a last-minute conference. Ned will show you around and I'll catch up in a few minutes." He turned and went back down the stairs while his assistant ushered Ray through a door at the far end of the hallway.

It was probably the most well-equipped lab Ray had ever seen – _ever_. This was not the usual meth kitchen. He stood transfixed, mentally cataloging the probable value of the drugs being produced, even as part of him really wanted to sample the goods. It wasn't until Ferguson's lackey grabbed his arm that he realized he wasn't keeping up with the tour.

Aware that almost a year of deep cover was about to pay off, Ray smiled and made suitably admiring comments about the set up. The sudden murmur of voices drew his attention to the other end of the lab and Ray watched as Ferguson came in with a group of men – and tried not to panic.

He recognized one of the men as Tyler Wolowych, the head of Internal Affairs. Ray remembered seeing his picture in the departmental newsletter when the guy had been appointed the previous year. Shortly after that Ray had gone undercover so they hadn't actually met. Just as he thought he would be able to go unnoticed, another man entered the room.

Ray tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while he figured out what to do. The man looking around the room was a colleague of Stella's. Ray had endured enough office parties making nice with Daniel Ingram that there was no chance he wouldn't be recognized. Sure enough, the moment they made eye contact, Ray knew his cover was blown.

He watched the man's mouth form the word 'cop' seconds before everyone turned to look at him. Without thinking, Ray started running through the lab, overturning tables and smashing equipment as he went. He was only dimly aware of the hissing of gas from broken burners amid the shouting. He had almost reached the fire escape at the far side of the room when he heard someone shout "Don’t' shoot!"

Ray barely registered the sound of a gunshot before the whole world descended into Hell.

{}

He was only vaguely aware of the doctors and nurses who consulted over his body as though he was some kind of specimen to be examined, exclaimed over and then left behind. Everything was hazy and dreamy, like he was tripping but without the talking furniture. He had no idea where he was, or how much time had passed or what was going on around him. And more to the point, he didn't care.

It was too much effort to focus, so he just…drifted, hoping to find escape from the pain in sleep, but it was impossible with all the voices around him.

"Poor, little love. What have you done to yourself?"

Ray tried to place the voice closest to him. It was so familiar, and yet not, sort of like a half-forgotten song.

"I should think you'd be exhausted enough to sleep through a marching band parading by your bed," said the woman, laughter evident in her voice.

And that's when he remembered; Nana Sophie, the elderly woman who'd lived next door when he was a little kid. He'd loved her for her cookies and hugs. When he was four he told her they'd get married one day. Ray hadn't talked to her in years, not since she passed…

Pain ripped through him and he gasped, or tried to. He was suffocating, unable to make a sound, unable to call for help. The voices around him were drowned out by alarms, and he was being jostled by too many hands. He welcomed the haven of nothingness.

Awareness came upon him suddenly. He braced for the onslaught of voices and heard… nothing. He felt panic creep over him and began to thrash about. Hands held him down as he fought to open his eyes, and pain exploded through him, causing him to black out once more.

Ray looked around the cabin and wondered where Fraser and Dief were hiding. "Hey! Anybody home?" He walked through the main room and opened the bedroom door, but it was empty. It was also not the room he remembered; it had too many feminine touches for one thing. He turned back to the main room and realized he didn't actually recognize anything in it.

"There you are. I wasn't sure you'd come."

Ray turned to face the man who'd spoken and frowned at the sight of him. "Hey. Do, uh, do I know you?"

"Doubtful," the man said. "We've never actually been introduced."

"Yeah, but you look kind of familiar from somewhere."

"Perhaps I have that kind of face – common, familiar," suggested the man with a teasing grin.

Ray glanced over at the fireplace mantle, and that's when it hit him. He turned back to the man. "Nice to meet you, Sgt. Fraser. Frase – uh, Ben, he has a photo of you at his cabin. It's a pretty old one, but you haven't changed all that much."

"Very good, especially for a Yank," he laughed. "And, please, call me Bob. Come sit down, the coffee's hot and the stew is almost done. You do like buttermilk biscuits, right?"

"Love 'em. And thanks. You know, for the hospitality," said Ray as he sat at the table.

They ate in silence and when the empty bowls were pushed away, Bob rested his arms on the table and regarded Ray solemnly. "Do you understand what's happening?"

Ray leaned forward and mirrored Bob's position. "I'm dead – or, you know, near enough."

Bob looked proudly at him. "You really are a cut above. You're on the edge, somewhere between here and there."

"So… what now?"

"I don't pretend to be an expert in these matters. I never actually spent any time in between – one second I was alive and the next… I wasn't. But, looking at this through the lens of common sense, it is my belief that you need to move one way or the other."

"And how am I supposed to do that? You got a manual or something I can read?"

"Now you're just being silly, son. You just have to choose."

"Choose. That’s it? I just make a choice and—" he broke off at the sudden sharp pain in his chest.

Bob looked concerned but didn't move from his seat. "Of course, if you wait too long, someone else might make that choice for you."

The next awakening was just as rough as the first, except he was able to breathe; not easily, but he could take huge gasping breaths.

"You're safe; no one is going to hurt you."

It was a man’s voice. The voice itself was familiar but the tone of it was one he just couldn’t reconcile with the voice. He listened to the repeated assurances but still couldn’t come up with a name or face to go with the voice. Eventually, curiosity was enough to push past the pain and mental fog.

When his vision cleared, his first reaction was “well, fuck” which he must have somehow said – mumbled – out loud, as the response was “Back at you, Stanley.”

Vecchio hovered in his line of vision like some real freaky bald vulture. Before Ray could try to ask what the hell he was doing there, Vecchio held a spoon of ice chips to his lips. The cool dribble of liquid down his throat was heaven – and Vecchio was clearly a god.

"You okay? Want some more?"

Ray turned away slightly. "'s good." He tried to gather his thoughts, but it was a little like herding cats. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Vecchio, reaching across to the call button. "We'll talk later. Right now we've got to let them know you're back with us – hopefully you'll stay this time."

There was no opportunity for Ray to ask what he meant. Moments after Vecchio pressed the call button the room was invaded by medical personnel, asking him questions and poking at him. Somewhere in all the chaos Vecchio slipped away, which really sucked because he wanted to ask why everyone kept calling him Mr. Mackenzie.

Eventually the hubbub died down and he was left in peace, but sleep – real restful sleep – refused to come so he just lay there with his eyes closed. Ray still didn't know what had happened to him, but he knew the extent of his injuries. He wondered if maybe it wouldn't have been a kindness if he'd simply died.

"You are a very lucky young man."

Ray opened his eyes to glare at Bob. Broken bones, burns and having his flesh shredded by shrapnel did not make him feel all that lucky. And the less said about going cold turkey from the hard stuff the better. Although, it was nice of them to put him on the good drugs – not quite as good as the shit he'd been doing, but it was something he could get used to in a pinch.

"Easy for you say," he mumbled.

"Maybe so, maybe so," said Bob as he paced around the room. Ray had the impression that Bob wanted to say something but didn't know where to start.

The creaking of the door drew their attention. Ray watched as it slowly opened and a furry head peeked around the corner. In a flash, Dief was in the room and standing beside his bed, front paws up on the bed frame and tail wagging faster than Ray had ever seen it wag before.

"Hey, pal," said Ray. He wanted to pet the half-wolf but was unable to move his arms without pain.

Ray's mind was buffeted with waves of _angergrieflovelovelove_ in a never ending cycle.

"He insisted on coming to see you," said Vecchio, lounging against the wall just inside the room. "We will not discuss what I had to do to get him in here, but you owe me."

Ray closed his eyes, smiling, when Dief stretched enough to press his nose against Ray's. "I missed you, too," he said, voice slurring with exhaustion.

 _safeprotectsleeplovelove_

Ray felt his eyes close. When he opened them it was morning and Dief was curled up on a padded chair while Vecchio lay on a recliner. A nurse pushed the door open and came in, carrying a tray. Ray was about to say…something, but the nurse beat him to it.

"It's good that you've got family with you," she said quietly as she set about dealing with vital signs, machines and meds. She – her name tag said Iris – glanced uncertainly at Dief. "Don't worry, Mr. Mackenzie, he can stay, too, as long as he doesn’t cause any trouble. Your brother had to apply for special permission, because he isn't actually a service dog. But your brother insisted that he was going to be part of your recovery so the Board said yes."

Ray didn't know whether to bitch or laugh at Vecchio being his brother. Fortunately he was saved from doing either when his 'brother' snorted loudly and woke up. Vecchio took Dief out for food and a run while the staff held their daily parade in and out of his room.

This became the pattern of his life. Doctors and nurses fussed over his general recovery, physiotherapists tried to coax is body to cooperate, and the shrink worrying about Ray's lack of clear memory and occasional confusion over his name.

 

It was a testament to just how out of it he really was that it took almost three weeks before he confronted Vecchio.

"Hey, Vecchio,, not that I'm complaining or anything because this place rocks. I mean, if I have to be stuck in a hospital, this place is really…not sucky."

"I'll be sure to pass along your approval," said Vecchio.

"But something's been bothering me. Well, a few some things have been bugging me." He leveled a steely glare at the other man. "Why are you now my brother? Why the hell does everyone think my name is Mackenzie?"

"You're just now getting around to asking--"

"And – and – here's one more for you. Why the hell do I have a view of mountains out my window, huh? Last I saw, there weren't any mountains in Chicago." Before he could get worked up any further, he felt waves of _lovecalmsafelove_. He looked over at Dief, curled up in a chair by the window. Dief wagged his tail but didn't get up.

Ray took a deep, calming breath. "No bullshit, man. What's going on?"

Vecchio got up and closed the door before coming back to the bed, dragging a chair with him. He reached down and pulled up a briefcase, which he opened on the table. "You're well enough to finally – finally! – ask questions, so you're well enough to hear some answers. Just try not to have a stroke or anything. This isn't going to be pretty."

 

Vecchio was right –it wasn’t pretty. As they talked, Ray found he could remember some things, but not others. Anything relating to the explosion was hazy, although a few details were crystal clear – well, pretty clear anyway.

From the briefcase, Vecchio pulled out newspaper articles, copies of police reports and affidavits, and together they went through everything until Ray fully understood just how fucked his life had become.

Ray nudged one of the statements. “He was at the lab,” he said. “He recognized me right off. Given how many shindigs we saw each other at, there was no way he didn’t know me. Bastard’s the one who told Ferguson. The minute he saw me he leaned over and whispered to him – I saw his lips move and he said ‘cop’.”

“Be sure, Stanley, be _very_ sure because Daniel Ingram is next in line to be State’s Attorney when Harrison retires next year.”

“I know what I – _who_ I saw!” Ray was pretty sure his blood pressure was about to skyrocket.

“Easy Stanley, I had to ask, you _know_ that.” Vecchio leaned back and stretched. “This guy has a lot of popular and political support – hell, even Stella supported him when she was with the State Attorney’s office. A mistake is not advisable.”

“Okay, yeah. I get that. But it was Ingram – and he made me the minute he set eyes on me.” Ray fumbled his water glass as he pulled it closer. "This sucks,” he said when Vecchio reached over to steady the glass.

"Patience, dearie. You're still healing up," said a woman standing by the door. She wore an old-fashioned nurses' uniform and cap. "I'll drop by a little later to see how you're doing. Play nice,  
now."

"Uh, thanks," said Ray, watching her pass through the door and disappear.

Vecchio heaved a big sigh. "You're welcome, Stanley. Now focus."

Ray blinked and looked back at the other man. He started to explain, but decided he had enough on his plate without worrying about Vecchio having him committed to the psych ward.

Ray detailed how he’d been approached to go deep into Ferguson’s operations to uncover the police department mole, believed to be someone connected to narcotics division – and his shock at finding the new head of internal affairs all buddy-buddy with the bad guy.

Vecchio made another note. “That would have been Wolowych, right? Cooper’s the head honcho over at IA.” He looked up briefly and clarified, “Wolowych died in a car accident the night before the explosion – near Peoria.”

“He was there, I tell you! I’m not making this--”

“Hey! Settle down – I believe you. Look, I’m just filling you in on the official story. Ty Wolowych was killed in a rollover crash on his way to visit a buddy in Peoria.” Vecchio tossed his pen down. “Obviously, this goes beyond just a crooked cop and a dirty prosecutor.”

Ray was pretty sure his head was going to explode. “Shit. Okay. Okay, this is… right, focus. So how can I help?"

"You can't. Listen, Stanley – _Ray_ – there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it." Vecchio looked queasy, like maybe he was going to puke all over himself. "The thing is, you're dead."

Ray stared at him in shock. "You want to say that again, Vecchio?"

"You're dead. You, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, were killed in the line of duty. It was a beautiful service. I was touched." When Ray made to interrupt, Vecchio slammed his hand down on the table and told him to be quiet for a change.

Dief whined and hurried over, resting his head on Ray's lap. _calmfriendprotectlove_

Ray took a deep, steadying breath and sat back, hands automatically petting Dief, who looked up at him and said, "He's trying to help you."

Ray stopped petting Dief, who grumbled in complaint. "What did you just say?"

"I _said_ if you'd shut your yap and just listen, I'd answer your questions," snapped Vecchio.

"I wasn't – never mind. Go ahead, I'll, uh, I'm listening." Ray mimed zipping his mouth closed after giving Dief a suspicious look.

"Okay. Here it is in a nutshell. I got a call – on my private number! - from some tweaker named Cowboy. He said you missed your check in so he was calling me. So, out of love for Stella and respect for Fraser, I hop on a plane back to Chicago and meet this Cowboy person. He hands me a safe deposit box key and business card from the bank, hits me up for $20 and disappears."

Ray nodded as he listened. Cowboy was the most reliable of his snitches.

"So I go to the bank and, surprise-surprise, the box is in my name – and my signature."

Ray shrugged. That part had been easy; he'd been Vecchio long enough to fake his signature.

"I find keys and directions to your rat-trap apartment. And what do I find at the aforementioned apartment?"

Ray knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.

"Envelopes. That's what I find Stanley. Envelopes, like you were expecting to wind up dead. Oh, and a freaked out wolf. You're not getting the deposit back, by the way. He'd almost chewed and dug his way through the door by the time I got there. What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled.

Vecchio shot out of his seat and began pacing around the room. "I couldn't believe the shit you wrote, but at least I was able to figure out where you were." In a quieter voice, he added, "I still can't believe that I'm the one you trusted."

Ray wanted to say something, but the wave of _quietlisentlearnquiet_ coming from Dief stopped him. He'd think about what it meant that he was suddenly able to actually hear Dief another time.

"So, when I heard about the explosion and put two and two together, I went looking for you – well, for your cover. Good thing it was chaos at the hospital – lots of unidentified people meant there was time to find you, get you out of there." Vecchio stared out the window. "You've got to understand, Stanley, things were being said - things about dirty cops. It didn't take me too long to start putting the pieces together, and when they added up wrong, well…"

He listened to Vecchio, but couldn't look at him. He knew who'd been labeled a dirty cop.

"I called in a favor and – details don't really matter right now. Some homeless guy down on the waterfront had your – well, Vickers' – I.D. planted on him. He'd been in the water for a while so no one was asking too many questions, what with the chaos of a drug lab going up in flames and all," said Vecchio, sounding so proud of himself. "Anyway, one way or another, you weren't at the lab when it blew."

Ray looked down at his scarred hands and arms; he didn't need a mirror to see the rest of the damage. "But I was there – and so were people who need to be brought down." He looked at the other man, "I have to go back. If I testify--"

"Nobody's going to take the word of a junkie."

There it was. The elephant in the room. He opened his mouth, but could not find any words.

"You know I'm right. Look, I'm not judging you. Anyone who's ever gone deep has had to do stuff to get the job done." Vecchio seemed undecided about something before finally making a decision. "Okay, you know how it goes before any big op, right? Before I went to Vegas, the Feds briefed me on Langoustini – everything I needed to know to _become_ him. Except for two very important details."

Ray didn't say anything, but he turned a bit toward Vecchio, listening.

"One, the Bookman was into recreational chemistry, if you get my drift. And two, he had a piece of ass on the side – one that was attached to a dick."

Ray's head shot up at that and he stared hard at Vecchio, who looked right back, not hiding anything. Fuck. He didn't know which to ask about first - the drugs or the male lover.

"No way to bluff either of those things, man."

Yeah. He knew about walking the talk.

"So, I do know where you've been and I don't hold any of it against you because I _get_ it. But _they_ won't. And some very powerful people have made sure no one will even listen - ever." He nudged the stack of notes on the table. "But, I promise you, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, I swear on my mother's life that I will do everything I can to bring down the bastards who took your life. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life; isn't that how it goes?"

"Why – why would you do that, help me? You don't even like me."

"You're important to Stella – yes, you are – and Stella's important to me. And… Bennie's important to me, too. And you're obviously very important to him."

"How'd you figure that?" scoffed Ray.

Vecchio looked down at Dief who sat next to Ray with his head on his lap. "He gave you the wolf." Vecchio's gaze sharpened. "He _gave_ you the wolf, right? Bennie's not buried in an iceberg, right? You didn't kill the Mountie to steal his wolf?"

Ray just rolled his eyes. "Funny guy. Don't give up your day job at the bowling alley."

"I'd smack you, but I think you're hurting enough already." Vecchio pulled a chair next to Ray and sat down, his expression deadly serious. "Kowalski is dead and buried. You can't call anyone you ever knew – not your folks, not Welsh, no one. For this to work, Kowalski's ghost cannot haunt anyone."

Ray felt lightheaded. His parents thought he was dead.

"I'm serious here, Stanley. This is witness protection at a level even the Feds can't imagine."

"And how are you going to pull this off, huh?"

"End of the week someone's going to stop by with a lot of paperwork for you – passport, birth certificate, bank accounts, driver's license, the whole shebang. He's your contact. You need anything, you even _suspect_ anything is wrong, you call him and he'll either look after it or call me. You got that?" he almost yelled.

"Yeah, yeah Vecchio, I hear you."

"Marco Brachitta is his name. You treat him with respect." Ray heard a bit of what the Bookman probably sounded like. Vecchio set a notebook in front of Ray. "This is just some rough background, the stuff that's traceable through official channels. You can flesh it out any way you want. This tells you when and where you were born, some basic family stuff, your name--"

"Yeah, about that. What the hell _is_ my name? Everyone keeps calling me Mr. Mackenzie, like I'm someone important."

"This is a very private clinic and Sebastian Raven Mackenzie is a man of means."

"Sebastian? My name is Sebastian? And what the hell is up with Raven? Geez, Vecchio."

"Sebastian is Marco's middle name. And Raven – you can thank your hippy-dippy parents – can be shortened to Ray, so you can keep that name if you want." He glared at Ray. "And why I picked Mackenzie is – a gift. Just suck it up and get used to it."

A knock at the door startled the men, and Dief growled briefly.

A nurse opened the door. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but it's time for Mr. Mackenzie's meds."

Vecchio stood up and began gathering the papers. "No problem,” he said, sending her a charming smile. “Could you give us another five minutes? I'll just pick all this up and get out of the way."

Once she was gone, Vecchio said "I have to head back before anyone gets suspicious. I'm supposedly meeting an old buddy from the force who retired here."

"And that leads me to a very important question. Vecchio, where the hell am I?"

"You're in a very expensive, very private clinic outside of Denver. The Rocky Mountains are the only high you get, _capito_?"

" _Capisco_." Ray sniggered at the look on Vecchio's face. "Ma – your Ma – dedicated herself to trying to teach me Italian."

"Oh yeah? She never mentioned that."

"With good reason."

Vecchio finished gathering his things and prepared to leave. "I'll be in touch when I can, but Marco's the go-to guy, okay?"

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks, man," said Ray. He started to hold out his scarred hand but stopped, not sure about shaking hands.

Vecchio however reached out and took his hand carefully between his own. He held it a moment then let go, scratched Dief behind the ears and left.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
[](http://merples.com/art/Elements_earth.jpg)  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 

 **  
_[Fraser pov]_   
**

 

Fraser closed the conference room door carefully behind him and walked across the main office area to his desk. The office sounds washed over him but he was untouched by any of it. He was too busy trying to keep from vomiting his lunch all over the desk.

He was raised to believe in the ideals of justice. It seemed that things had changed in his absence.

“It might be a good idea to drop it, Corporal. You’re only going to make yourself sick over it.”

Fraser looked over at the desk clerk, a civilian aide who kept the office running at peak efficiency. He had found himself horribly amused when he was first introduced to Ms. Catcheway – _Francesca_ Catcheway. For one fleeting moment, he had wondered if flashily dressed, amorous women named Francesca had become the new standard requirement in law enforcement.

"Honestly, Ms. Catcheway, I don't see how anyone can just 'drop it' as though it never happened."

"Okay, first, call me Fran; I feel like you're talking to my mother. And second, no one is trying to say it never happened." Fran watched him for a moment before looking over at the big wall clock. "Corporal, would you mind walking me home once your shift ends?"

Fraser was startled by the request. In truth he wanted nothing more than to go home, lock the door behind him and forget this day had ever happened. However, gentlemanly behavior was too deeply ingrained in him to refuse. "Of course, Ms. Catcheway – I mean, Fran. I would be pleased to escort you. Would 4:30 be convenient?"

"Thank you, Corporal."

"Benton, please, or Ben, if you prefer."

Her smile really was lovely, and surprisingly shy. "Benton it is."

He returned to his reports, doing his best to ignore the meeting taking place in the conference room. When the door opened an hour later, Fraser automatically stood as the occupants walked out. He nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Salé and their daughter before turning to his commanding officer, Sgt. MacNamara, and the lawyers for the mining company.

MacNamara refused to look at him, instead guiding the Salé family out of the building. Fraser watched silently, giving every impression that he was focused on them. In truth, his attention was on the lawyers gathered somewhere behind him. Their self-congratulations and thinly veiled insults towards young Anna Salé made his blood boil. Before he could act, however, and earn himself yet _another_ transfer, MacNamara returned.

One of the lawyers approached. "No hard feelings, Corporal," he said holding out his hand.

Good manners warred with anger briefly. Fraser gave a curt nod and gathered up some files. "Excuse me. I need to see to these." He left, aware of the eyes boring holes in his back. The end of his shift could not come soon enough.

On the way home, Fran dragged Fraser to the grocery store, where he dutifully carried the basket while she picked up a few items. He even carried the bags as they walked to where Fran lived with her cousins.

"You're angry," she said as they walked down the street.

He thought about denying it, but only for a few seconds. "Yes."

"At the company or the family?"

He started at that. "Why-why would I be angry _at_ the family? They're the victims. It's the company's refusal to take responsibility for the actions of their employees that--"

"Maybe they should have gone ahead and pressed charges against Parker," she suggested. "It's not the first time one of the miners got out of line with a local girl."

Fraser had to acknowledge the truth of that. "It seems like no one is ever charged in these… _incidents_." He spat out the last word, venom in his tone of voice.

"That's asking a lot, Benton. I mean, she's only 14."

"I _know_ that," he snapped before he could stop himself. He took a moment to compose himself. "My apologies, Fran. It's just… it goes against everything I was raised to believe that justice is not being done - and everyone seems to want to turn a blind eye to their behavior."

"Boys will be boys and they'll outgrow it eventually."

He looked over at her in surprise.

"This isn't the first time it's happened – not even the first time here," she said.

"And you just accept this?"

"Accept? No." She hesitated before continuing. "But we are nothing if not adaptable. No matter what the - the outsiders do to us, we will survive."

Fraser felt like he'd just been kicked in the gut, the word 'outsider' echoing in his head. It was a revelation, an unwelcome epiphany, the realization that he was an outsider. He was home but not _home_. He didn't belong here anymore than he did in Chicago.

"Hey, Benton, you okay?"

The concern in Fran's voice caught his attention. "What? Oh, yes, Fran. I'm quite alright. Thank you for asking." He kept his eyes forward and continued walking. Fraser was grateful that Fran did not try to make small talk.

 

Three weeks later Fraser walked into the office to find MacNamara waiting for him.

"You, Corporal, are a most persistent man," he said. "Not to mention a very fast worker."

Fraser was not quite sure how he was supposed to respond to that so he settled for a neutral, "Sir?"

"Your flight leaves in two hours." MacNamara handed over a large manila envelope. "Here's your ticket and an outline of the agenda. We'll see you back here tomorrow afternoon."

Fraser shook his head slightly, completely unable to follow the conversation.

"Congratulations. You've been agitating for some kind of powwow between locals and the mining company ever since the incident with the Salé girl. Well, here's your chance to convince them to take the idea seriously. I don't know what you've put in your communiqués to them, but it must have really been something. The owner will be at the company's Yellowknife office for a few days of meetings and he has graciously agreed to see you." MacNamara turned back to his office. "Don't screw it up."

"No sir. I mean, yes sir – I mean I won't sir. Thank you." He looked down at the envelope in his hands. Now what?

 

He sat in the outer office where he'd been told to wait – "Mr. Yarwood is on a conference call, but he'll be with you as soon as possible" – and he mentally grit his teeth as five minutes became ten, fifteen, and finally thirty minutes. Although he gave every appearance of patience, inside he wanted nothing more than to pace. His dress uniform itched something awful, and that, combined with his overall emotional turmoil, made it very difficult to stay still.

Just as he started to wonder if it would be alright to get up and walk around, the secretary said, "Mr. Yarwood will see you now." She led him into a well-appointed office and left him standing before a large desk.

"Corporal… Fraser, is it? Good to meet you," said Yarwood. "My apologies for the delay – the Rio office is in the middle of some negotiations and we needed to go over some things. Please, have a seat."

Fraser took a seat in front of the desk and was surprised that Yarwood took the seat beside him rather than moving back around the desk.

"Now then, what can I do for the RCMP? My secretary said this has something to do with that unfortunate incident a few weeks ago, but I was given to understand it had been… handled."

Fraser schooled his expression into a mask of politeness. "My purpose in contacting you is to see if there is any way that such future… difficulties can be avoided."

"What did you have in mind?"

Knowing his time was limited – more so because of the delay in actually getting in to see Yarwood – Fraser tried to explain his idea of a meeting between company representatives and village elders. He hoped that perhaps having some perspective on the local customs and expectations would help encourage the company to rein in the more extreme behavior of some of their employees on leave.

"You've certainly put a lot of thought into this," said Yarwood, accepting the written proposal Fraser had brought with him. "I'll take this up with the board at the next directors' meeting." He stood, clearly indicating the meeting was over.

Fraser stood and straightened his uniform. "Well. Thank you for your time." As he turned toward the door, he stopped and looked at the row of framed photographs on the credenza. "Is that your family?"

Yarwood glanced at the photos with a fond smile. "My pride and joy," he said, walking over to pick up a family picture. "My wife, Patsy and my daughter Erica." His love for them was evident in his voice.

"Your daughter is a lovely young woman," said Fraser. "I'm sure she has quite a few suitors calling on her."

"She'd better not!" At Fraser's look of inquiry, he added "She's only 15 – still a kid. There is no way I'm letting any guy near her."

"Ah. I see. Well, yes, if she's below the age of consent then I can see how you would be against her having any romantic entanglement, so to speak."

"Damn straight. Any guy comes on to her and he's going to have his ass hauled up on charges."

Fraser nodded his agreement. "As it should be. The laws are there to protect all children from exploitation." He headed for the door and paused with is hand on the door knob. "It might interest you to know that Anna was 14," he said without turning around.

"I'm sorry, Corporal, but I don't follow."

Fraser turned his head and looked Yarwood straight in the eye. "Anna Salé? You probably know her better as 'the incident'." With a final nod, he left the office, closing the door carefully behind him.

By the time he reached the sidewalk outside, Fraser was shaking. The idea that anyone could consider any child to be fair game and unworthy of protection made him want to vomit. That there had ever been some kind of negotiation that allowed a man to escape punished for harming a child was almost more than he could bear.

Fraser quickened his pace, needing to get back to his room as soon as possible. He was overcome with the burning need to strip off the uniform and shower until he felt clean again.

 

Almost two weeks later, Fraser was called in to the detachment on his day off. He had no plans, but still was irked at the interruption. In a fit of pique, he dressed in jeans and a Blackhawks sweatshirt rather than his uniform for the meeting. These little acts of rebellion had become more common over the past several months.

At MacNamara's assessing look, Fraser merely shrugged and said "It's my day off. Sir."

MacNamara ushered him into the office and closed the door. "I thought you'd like to know that the mining company has withdrawn its defence of Frank Parker, Gordon Campbell and Bernie Rivers."

Fraser knew Parker had attacked Anna, and Campbell and Rivers had attacked and almost killed a man at an after-hours drinking party. All three men had escaped punishment when witnesses and plaintiffs were 'dissuaded' from pursuing legal action.

He suddenly realized his superior officer was waiting for some kind of response. "Oh?"

"A memo has been issued to their various operations detailing codes of conduct in local communities. This was sent to us as a courtesy." He handed over what had been faxed over. "Unfortunately, in the case of the Salé girl, there's no physical evidence to bring charges."

"Ah. About that, Sir." Fraser nervously scratched the tiny scar hidden in his eyebrow. "The evidence is on file in Yellowknife."

MacNamara's glare was impressive. "You want to maybe run that by me again, Corporal?"

"Before her parents came to file charges, they took Anna to the aid station. The nurse practitioner on duty did a standard rape kit, which she turned over to us. I instructed Fran, that is, Ms. Catcheway, to send it out as soon as possible, as we do not have the facilities to analyze the evidence." Fraser shrugged. "The contents of the kit went out on the last flight, before the company's lawyers arrived."

"You're telling me evidence exists to link Parker to the assault on that girl?"

"Yes, Sir. However, the evidence was of little value if no one was prepared to actually move the case forward."

MacNamara surged up from his seat and paced the office. "I don't know whether to bust you back down to constable or put a commendation in your file." He threw himself back into his chair. "I'll make the call and get a warrant out to have him picked up. If the evidence is good...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Fraser just stared at his superior officer, a little surprised by the sudden about face on the charges.

"Don't just sit there, Corporal, get out. Unless you want me to find you something to do around here...?"

Fraser assured him that would not be necessary and hurried out. He wanted to ask Fran about the goings on, but she was talking on the phone and he didn't want to cause any fuss by hanging around the office, especially in civilian clothes.

{}

Fraser looked up when the office door opened.

MacNamara gestured to Fraser. "Corporal, a moment, if you would be so kind."

Although couched as a request, Fraser understood it was an order. He set down his pen, closed the file he’d been working on and got up, straightening his jacket before going into the office. He stood at attention in front of the desk.

Fraser refused to fidget when the silence began to stretch out to an uncomfortable length. Eventually, the other man cleared his throat.

"You’ve put in for vacation time," he said, waving the request form in his hand.

"Is the timing an issue, Sir? I could possibly reschedule if--"

"No, no, the timing is fine. It’s… well, frankly it’s the fact that you made the request at all that has me concerned." He set the form down, and Fraser could see that the approval still lacked a signature.

"Respectfully, Sergeant MacNamara, most of my superior officers, well, all of them really, have had to force me to take time off. I like to think I have finally ‘caught on’, as the saying goes, and am looking at taking voluntary time off, which eliminates the difficulty of hinting, pushing and ordering me to take the mandated vacation time."

He blinked at Fraser, precisely worded statement. "Right." He folded his hands and leaned forward. "You’ve requested three weeks with the option of a fourth week."

"I am trying to use backlogged time, Sir. I believe the accumulated time will be lost if not used in accordance with--"

"Thank you, Corporal; I’m aware of the regulations. I'm simply surprised, that's all. You have something of a reputation for finding reasons to not take you allotted vacation time, and this request is fairly short notice."

Fraser offered a weak smile, which was mirrored by his commanding officer.

"So, is everything okay? Three weeks is an awfully long time to do nothing. Are you planning to go away?"

"In a manner of speaking. I thought I might go hunting. It's been a number of years since I've done any serious hunting, so, if nothing else, I thought I might benefit from some time away, whether or not the hunt is successful."

MacNamara smiled. Fraser was pretty sure it was meant to be reassuring but, in reality, it just looked creepy. Fraser was relieved when MacNamara looked down and signed the vacation request form. "I'll make arrangements to have someone come in to cover for you. Is Thursday soon enough?"

"Thank you, Sir."

"That's all, Corporal. Dismissed."

 

Thursday afternoon he finished organizing the files on his desk for the replacement – temporary replacement – and emptied his waste basket. Everything on his desk was in order. There was one last task to perform.

Fraser gathered the shredding and proceeded to feed the papers into the machine. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, studying the contents for anything he may have overlooked or not yet committed to memory. Assured he knew the contents by heart, he fed it into the shredder, turning the machine off once it was done.

He was ready. He had already responded to the week-old fax when it arrived by calling the Yellowknife detachment and thanking them for the courtesy notice that Frank Parker had escaped custody. He assured them that the Salé family was safely back in their own village where Parker would not find them, and yes they would keep an eye out in case he was foolish enough to return to the scene of the crime.

With a last look around the office, he left and locked the door behind him. Once he walked through door to his bachelor suite Fraser stripped off his uniform with a sigh of relief. He refused to think too much about why he felt compelled to shed the uniform as soon as he returned home.

He checked over his supplies, marking off the items against the list in his head. Assured that he had what he'd need, Fraser turned his attention to his firearms. The small handgun was in optimal condition and would fit nicely in the holster to be worn at his lower back. The rifle, too, was in excellent working order. He secured both weapons and added them to the pile just inside his door.

Fraser was tempted to head out, but decided a hot meal and a decent night's sleep would serve him better than starting immediately. He did, however, set the clock a full two hours earlier than the usual time.

The streets were still quiet when he set out, truck bouncing along the rough road.

"You know, a plane would have been quicker."

Fraser resolutely did not look at his father. "Dad. I thought you'd crossed over. Again."

"Your mother is still not talking to me. In fact, my pillow and clothing have taken up permanent residence on the chesterfield."

"I'm sorry...?"

"Appreciate the thought, Benton. Your mother is one stubborn woman – and possibly the second most stubborn person I ever met."

Fraser chanced a glance at his father and was surprised to see he was not wearing a uniform. "I don't think I've ever seen you out of uniform," said Fraser.

"Well, to be honest, it's not as though we spent a great deal of time together," said Bob. "For that I am most heartily sorry."

"I... I really appreciate that, Dad." Fraser felt something inside him loosen.

"You know, I don't think I've ever actually seen you wear a sweatshirt, at least not one emblazoned with the name of a hockey team."

"Things change," was all he said.

"Clearly. The Chicago Blackhawks, son? What's wrong with the Maple Leafs? Or even the Canadiens if you were feeling particularly rebellious?"

Fraser had his reasons but refused to satisfy his father's curiosity.

After a while Bob said, "So, as I was saying, a plane would be quicker."

"More flexibility if I drive."

Bob turned in his seat to face Fraser. "Son, are you certain you're doing the right thing? The proper way to handle this would be through--"

"Official channels? Is that what you were going to say?" snapped Fraser. "Are you talking about the same official channels that let Franklin Parker go without so much as a slap on the wrist? Is this the same official channel that puts the wellbeing of a young girl behind financial and political considerations? Would you be talking about the official channels that deal with everyone _except_ the people who are most harmed by those bad decisions?"

"I had no idea you felt so strongly about this."

"How could you? It's not like we have a beer and talk."

"No, no we never have..." Bob sighed and straightened in his seat. "I only have one thing to say and then I'll hold my peace. Benton, if you go down this path you'll never be able to wear that uniform with pride again."

Fraser couldn't stop the near-hysterical laughter that burst forth. "Dad, you have no idea how hard it's been to put on that fucking uniform every morning. I don't think anything I do is going to make it worse."

"Ah. I... see."

"Do you?"

"Well, no, honestly I don't. But I also promised – implied, but a promise none the less – to remain silent, and that is what I intend to do."

"Oh. Well. That's appreciated, Dad. Thank you. That's good, greatness even."

Bob looked out the passenger side window. "You never talk about him, the Yank."

"What's to talk about? He's dead and I'm not."

Fraser noticed his father stiffen.

"Dead? Are you certain?"

"I got a letter from Ray Vecchio. He included some newspaper articles a-about his body being pulled from the lake. He was doing some kind of undercover investigation." Fraser had to stop talking before he started screaming. From the corner of his eye he could see his father open his mouth a few times as though he were uncertain what to say. "I'm fine, Dad. We hadn't even kept in touch since the Quest. I lost him a long time ago."

When Fraser was certain he had his emotions under control, he turned to look at his Dad, to try to explain, but he was already gone.

It was quite late when he finally pulled into Whitehorse. He checked into a low-end tourist inn under the name of Ben Mackenzie – he was reasonably certain his sister would not object to loaning him her name for a few days – and engaged the clerk in a discussion about local politics while Fraser pulled out cash to pay for the room. By the time Fraser left with the room key, the poor man had completely forgotten to verify the driver's licence or the licence plate on the truck.

He stowed his gear in the room, but tucked the handgun under his jacket and the knife in his boot before heading back out. He’d briefly considered taking his RCMP identification but decided this was something best left ‘off the record’ as it were.

Fraser deliberated for a few moments then decided to walk. He would have preferred to sleep but Parker was on the run and Fraser couldn’t take the chance of losing him. Twenty minutes later he entered a convenience store and walked to the back and out the emergency exit, tripping the alarm as he went. He leaned against the wall outside and waited.

Suddenly another door opened and a large man exited from the hidden upper area of the convenience store. He looked around frantically, clutching what appeared to be a well-worn Piglet plushie. Fraser was beyond amused.

"Silly Bear, running outside unarmed without looking to see who might be waiting for you."

The man spun to face Fraser. After a moment of shock he broke into a large smile and laughed. "Christopher Robin! I thought you got eaten by a walrus or something! Whatcha doin' in the big city?"

Fraser grinned at his old friend and occasional nemesis. "Business!" he shouted over the alarm. When it suddenly stopped, he repeated, "Business. But we need to take this inside."

Together they went up to the no-doubt illegal apartment. Fraser looked around with interest. He'd never been to this particular apartment, but the set-up was eerily similar to the other places Bear had lived over the years. Of course, the man did have a few mild OCD tendencies.

"So, C.R., what's the what?"

Fraser returned his attention to the other man. "I'm looking for someone who used your services recently."

Bear's entire demeanour changed and he immediately became defensive. "No can do. The folks who come to me for help know they can rely on my discretion. If word gets out that I'm shooting off my mouth to cops, I'm out of business. And frankly, I like it here." He glared at Fraser. "I thought we had a live and let live thing happening."

Fraser hated to push. Bear had been the first friend he'd ever had and they'd supported each other through boarding school – when Fraser went for the last two years of high school - and then in Depot and a first posting to northern Ontario. But as much as he didn't want to push, this was too important to let go.

Fraser went over to the large oak desk and perched on the edge. He reached beside him and picked up a framed photograph. "You're little one's all grown up," he said. "She looks happy."

Bear came closer so he could look at the photo as well. "She's almost 16 if you can believe it. Her mom is doing right by her – best schools and 'opportunities' she can manage." Bear had left the RCMP when his girlfriend got pregnant. Unfortunately the marriage didn't last and Bear had burned too many bridges to be allowed back onto the Force. "All those things cost money, so don't you go screwing up my gig here."

Nodding his understanding, Fraser set down the photo and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He handed over a picture of Anna Salé – her face blacked out – with bruises on her arms and thighs. "She's the reason I'm here." He let Bear look at it for a moment then placed another photo on top. "This is the one I'm looking for."

He could see the recognition in Bear's eyes, and the indecision. "The girl is younger than Gwen."

Bear came to a decision. "I don't know where he's going and I didn't ask any questions. But this guy here, he came in a couple of days ago looking for driver's licence, birth certificate and a few odds and ends – a rush job, so it's not exactly my best work but it'll fool anyone without a reason to look too close."

"I need the details, Bear. What information did you put on the documents – who is he now?"

With obvious reluctance he pulled up some information on his computer and printed it out, all the while sneaking looks at the photo of the little girl. "You going to fix that?"

Fraser nodded. "That's the plan."

"Turning him in, or putting him down?"

"Yes."

Bear didn't look too surprised. "You've always been one to take the world on your shoulders, so I guess that’s only to be expected. How you've managed to remain a Mountie is beyond me." He pulled the pages from the printer and handed them over. "I'm not even going to ask if you know where he's going, 'cause you've always been freaky like that. So, I'll just say good hunting."

Fraser tucked everything back into his jacket. "Thank you, Bear. I really appreciate this."

"No problem," he said, enveloping Fraser in a bear hug. “Don't be a stranger Christopher Robin.”

"Silly old Bear. I'll come see you as soon as I’m done with this."

Mission accomplished, Fraser headed back to his room for a few hours of sleep. The next few days would be busy.

 

A few phone calls was all it took to hook up with a guiding company that specialized in catering to the less scrupulous hunting parties. After a little persuading, he discovered Parker was being taken the long way to Anchorage, which had less chance of encountering the authorities.

Fraser knew the conventional wisdom had Parker making a straight run south to the U.S. border, but that meant a greater chance of getting caught. The same was true of trying to fly out of the Yukon. Every instinct he had was screaming that Parker was heading for the Anchorage airport.

The airport was fairly busy, lots of tourists coming and going as well as local travelers. He nursed his coffee and worked on the crossword puzzle book he bought while he waited. He had already changed location twice to avoid being conspicuous and he was just gathering up his things to move again when he spotted Parker coming through security.

Moving in a seemingly casual manner Fraser bumped against a security guard, slipping a folded up piece of paper into his shirt pocked as he apologised profusely for his clumsiness.

The security guard turned the corner and that’s when Fraser collided with Parker, this time spilling coffee on his target.

It was under the guise of helping to wipe up the coffee spilled all over the man that Fraser leaned in to whisper a warning about turning himself in and pleading guilty. To make his point, he used a small blade to cut a shallow line through Parker’s jeans in into the skin near the man’s genitals. “Do as you’re told,” whispered Fraser just as security arrived.

During the commotion, Fraser was able to slip away to a nearby washroom where he slicked back his hair, changed his shirt and turned his reversible jacket inside out. The man leaving the washroom was not the same one who'd gone in.

On the way to his flight back to Whitehorse, he paused only long enough to determine that Frank Parker was being taken into custody. The security guard he’d bumped into earlier had the ‘wanted’ notice in his hand; the notice with Parker’s face, name, alias and the charges against him.

{}

“Honestly, C.R., I don’t know what to even think!” exclaimed Bear. “Seriously, you _shivved_ him?”

Fraser sat on Bear’s sofa, one hand over his face, the other clutching the Piglet plushie. “I know, I _know_ ,” he moaned.

“Frankly, I didn't know you could go all bad-ass like that. It's kind of skewing my world view."

"You and me both." Fraser said, finally sitting up in his nest of blankets. "Are you sure I won't be in the way if I stay?"

"Wouldn't have offered if you were going to cramp my style," replied Bear. "Hey, not to be too indelicate, but you look like you're ready to crack."

"Thanks for the assessment." Fraser rested his head against the back of the sofa. Bear was right, Fraser was pretty sure he was going to lose it sometime soon, and he was grateful to his old friend for giving him a safe place to fall apart.

The sounds of things being moved around finally penetrated his self-absorption, but he was too exhausted to open his eyes to see what was going on.

"When's the last time you visited the Hundred Acre Wood?"

Fraser's eyes shot open just as Bear set a mid-sized hookah on the low table in front of him. "No, just – I can't be doing that anymore."

"Pfft. If anyone actually needs to do this it's you." He studied Fraser's face for a long moment and then looked mildly horrified. "You haven't touched the stuff since Depot, have you?"

Fraser felt his face flame but wasn't quite sure why. Their little group of misfits had banded together for mutual support back at Depot. Somewhere along the way, that had included occasional pot use. Fraser had looked on it as his long-overdue teenage rebellion.

"Oh Christopher Robin... you really need to unwind. Hey! Wait a minute – oh my god! Please tell me you've at least gotten _laid_ since then!"

He grabbed a pillow and smacked Bear in the face. Both men dissolved into what could only be described as giggles and Fraser relented and let his friends prepare the hookah pipe. Fraser had already entrapped someone, attacked and threatened him and casually walked away. He'd become a vigilante; what was one more stain on his record?

Fraser leaned back and took a puff. "Have you heard from anyone else?"

"Funny you should ask. The other day I got a letter from Rabbit. You will not believe what Kanga is up to..."

Fraser relaxed into the smoke and the connection to a near-forgotten corner of his past, hoping to glean some idea of what his future would hold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post CotW. They survived the Quest for the Hand of Franklin, but an impulsive act and an unguarded reaction drives a wedge between them, shattering their hearts and lives. Now they must embark on a different kind of Quest. Over the course of a decade, Ray and Fraser find themselves on separate journeys, one that may eventually bring them to where they are truly meant to be.

_My family worked the mines as long as I can remember. I started when I was 13. When my boy was born I went out back and cried; I knew he was doomed to follow. It damn near broke my heart to throw him out but he had a chance to be free, to live where the sun shines and the air, ah sweet Jesus, the air won't poison him. He never came back, but I heard he was a doctor somewhere. --- Carl Tucker, 49, died of black lung, 1962 (excerpt from 'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased')_  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 **_[RayK pov]_ **

 

For the most part, Ray's physiotherapy went well. The only real problem was with his hands; they were not healing as quickly as the rest of him. In a fit of frustration, he refused to continue with the exercises.

"This is stupid," he told Christine, the physiotherapist. "Look, all my life I've been an active kind of guy. This is – I guess I need to see the results of what I'm doing."

"I see. So what you're saying is you’re into instant gratification," she said, dryly.

He felt the first real smile pull at the scarred skin on his cheek. "Only in some things," he said. "Never where it really counts, though, because I have endless patience when it counts." He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis and was thrilled to hear his drill sergeant of a therapist giggle like a schoolgirl. They ended their session with the promise to look at alternative exercises.

 

Coming out of the bathroom that evening, Ray was startled to see a nun standing by his bed. She was dressed in a traditional habit – long skirts and all – and had her arms crossed over her chest. She was also washed out, like an old sepia photograph.

"You need a typewriter," she said.

"Oh really," he said. "And what the hell – pardon the language, Sister – what am I supposed to do with a typewriter?"

She glared at him. "Learn to type."

"I already know how to type."

"With more than two fingers?" she asked.

"You know, you're awfully snippy for a dead nun."

"And for a live man you're not exactly living."

He was about to tell her to get out – usually they listened – but she cut him off before he could so much as open his mouth.

"I did a lot of work with the boys coming back from the war," she said. "Sometimes the best way to get better was to do ordinary _useful_ things."

Ray carefully shuffled over to the bed, Dief at his side to lend support when Ray lost his balance.

She took a step closer but stopped when Dief growled.

"Sorry, uh, dead people make him edgy."

"I know how he feels. Live people try my patience."

That surprised a laugh out of Ray. "I can imagine. So. A typewriter, huh?"

"As you practice, it will help you relearn to use your fingers and hands," she said. "But use a manual one so you work the muscles and nerves a little more."

It sounded a lot more interesting than stretches and squeezing little rubber balls. "What should I type?"

She smiled and walked toward the door. "Your name, a shopping list, – it doesn’t matter. Type descriptions of the people you meet or write a novel. It doesn't matter as long as you do it," she said as she disappeared through the closed door.

Ray and Dief stared at the spot where she disappeared. Suddenly waves of _protectloveconfusionloveprotect_ swept over him. He looked down at his friend and rubbed behind his ears. "Yeah, definitely weird shit, but that is my life."

When he finally crawled into bed, Ray said, "Night, Dief. Remind me to ask about a manual typewriter in the morning."

He was almost asleep when he heard. "Remember manual typewriter in morning."

His last thought before unconsciousness was "Of course the wolf talks, because letting a dead nun boss me around isn't freaky enough."

 

"No good will come of this," muttered Ray, glaring at the manual typewriter his physiotherapist had unearthed from somewhere.

Bob stood in what Ray had come to know as the 'lecture posture'. "Now, let's have none of that, Son. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with your face in a bowl, eating like a dog?"

Dief growled and both men glanced down at him in surprise.

"No offense intended, Diefenbaker. Some of the finest animals are dogs, er, wolves." Dief stopped growling. Bob looked back up at Ray. "Sensitive, isn't he?"

Turning to glare at the typewriter, Ray just shrugged and pressed one of the keys, which barely made an impact on the paper. "Fuck."

"It's your own fault, you know. If you hadn't balked at the exercises that nice physiotherapist wanted you to do you wouldn't be in this position," said Bob.

"Not helping," said Ray. "What am I supposed to type? Why am I even doing this? It's not like I'm going to get a job as a secretary or something like that."

"It's a valuable skill to have, Ray. I remember the day we got the first Olivetti in the territory. A sturdy machine it was. The men of our unit had the strongest fingers in the entire territory, which came in handy while apprehending the Stewart brothers. We had to scale a cliff face to reach their camp. There we were, hanging above the gorge by our fingertips. We were inching--"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Build up strength and control, and one day I'll be able to hold a spoon again. Typing as physical therapy."

Bob just rocked back on his heels. "What have you got lose?"

Ray grumbled under his breath but dutifully put his fingers on the keyboard. Bob was every bit as stubborn as his son. He wondered if it was genetics or a Mountie thing. When he looked down at the paper sitting in the carriage he had no idea what he should type. Well, he could always start with the classics, no matter how cliché.

Slowly, painfully, he typed the words _it was a dark and stormy night_. He stopped to check what he'd just typed. It was faint but seemed to be spelled right. Huh. How about that? Feeling victorious he started to say something to Bob, but he was already gone.

Ah well. He wasn't going to let that dampen his feeling of accomplishment. He reached up to hit the carriage return and gave it a solid shove – which forced it into the glass of soda on the edge of the table, knocking it off the table and on to Dief's head.

He looked down at the indignantly grumbling half-wolf and tried not to laugh. "Um… oops?"

 _badhatebitebad_

"Sorry, buddy. I guess I better get a wet cloth before it dries on you."

Wolf eyes glared up at him. "Yes. Now."

{}

Ray sat out in the garden and soaked up the sun. Dief was stretched out on the grass nearby, moaning and twitching in his sleep. Ray watched him for a while and decided that he was probably chasing donuts in his dreams, which would explain the drool around his muzzle.

A few yards away two men worked the garden; one man glowing with hyper-bright color, the other in sepia tones. Ray squinted as he watched them. The color contrast was made even stronger by the fact that everything else looked normal. Some days it all made him feel just a little dizzy even if it did help him separate the dead from the living.

Reaching into his jacket he pulled out his pocket watch; Marco would be stopping by soon. Sometimes Ray missed wearing a wristwatch. Unfortunately, he no longer had the manual dexterity to fasten a strap and the expandable wristbands irritated the scar tissue on his wrists.

Still, he was pretty sure he could rock the pocket watch look, maybe even incorporate it into a whole new style. He was getting pretty comfortable with a cane. He figured he could get a collection of really cool walking sticks, something to go with his new name.

Ray was glad his career – ex-career – included a lot of undercover work; he was experienced in answering to different names. Still, he didn't see himself as a 'Raven' even if it was shortened to Ray. Sebastian on the other hand had promise. He'd known a guy once who'd shortened it to Baz, which appealed to Ray, probably because it was so unusual.

 _cautionprotectloveprotect_

Ray looked around as Dief came to his feet and saw Marco and a woman walking across the lawn. "Hey man, good to see you," said Ray, casually grabbing a fistful of Dief's fur to keep him close.

Marco grinned at Ray. "Looking good, Baz. You might want to invest in some sunscreen, though, unless you're planning to try out for the role of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."

"Ha ha, funny guy. Don't quit your day job." He turned his attention to the woman keeping her distance. "Who's your shadow?"

"This is your new best friend – well, except for fuzzy here," laughed Marco. "Hannah-Rose Archambeault, meet Baz Mackenzie and his buddy, Dexter."

Dief sneezed at the name. Ray had been annoyed that even Dief's name had to be changed. Apparently Dief had been annoyed as well and only permitted Ray to call him Dex.

He eyed her appreciatively. "Ms. Archambeault." She was a lovely woman probably around his age, maybe a few years younger. Her lime green streaked hair really stood about against her black skin – as did the blue right eye and grey left eye. What really caught his attention however, was the outline of a handgun under her sweatshirt.

"Do me a favour, would you?" he asked. At her tentative nod, he said "Keep your hands in plain sight. You even think about going for your piece, my buddy here will take you apart."

"Not a problem, Mr. Mackenzie," she said, a slight accent evident. Hannah slowly turned out her jacket pockets so he could see there was nothing but a few tissues and then tucked her hands in the pockets, ensuring she could not suddenly reach for her weapon.

"So, you're my new best friend huh?" He shot a hard look at Marco, but it was Hannah-Rose who responded.

"I'm what you could call a life manager. My job is to get you up and running in your new life."

Ray didn't like the sound of that; it meant too many people knew about him. He might as well head back to Chicago. "Look, Hannah, I don't--"

"First, it's Hannah-Rose. Second, I don't know your history and I really don't care. I'm not here for your past; I'm here to make sure you've got a future." She took a couple of steps toward him, stopping when Dief growled.

Marco started to put himself between them, but Hannah-Rose stopped him with a look. "Here's the skinny. I know you're being relocated; you are dead to your past life and you need to establish a new one. Now, Marco here did well with the documents – they're all official and correct and duly entered into every relevant database. But there's more to it than that."

"Newsflash, honey, I probably know more about being someone else than you'll ever know."

"No, you know about _pretending_ to be someone else – I'm guessing – but this isn't pretend. You _are_ Baz Mackenzie and everything has to line up."

She was right and he knew it. "So what are you doing to do?"

" _We_ are going to hash out some of the details of your life – like where you plan to live once you're discharged. Normally, I'd act as body guard while you get settled, but it seems you have that covered," she said with a nod toward Dief.

Ray scratched under Dief's chin and waited for her to continue.

"We'll finalize the details of where you'll live, how you'll make your living, your hobbies and whatever else is needed to establish that you _are_ Sebastian Mackenzie. Nothing is left to chance – _nothing_."

She certainly sounded passionate about this. Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by an unfamiliar voice.

"She'll do right by you. My family's alive because of her."

Ray watched as a man in his sixties, looking like a faded sepia photo, walked up to Hannah-Rose.

"She did everything humanly possible to keep me safe," said the mystery man, turning to look at Ray. "I can vouch for her."

Ray reached for his cane and stood up. "I'll be right back," he said before walking away, Dief and the man at his side. When he was far enough away that Marco and Hannah-Rose couldn't hear him, he asked "What's your connection to her?"

The man introduced himself as Carmine Fallaci and explained how he'd turned evidence against the mob and had to be put into witness protection. "I never imagined how complicated it was to make someone disappear and then create a new person out of thin air."

"Sounds like she had all the bases covered."

"She did, but in the end it wasn't enough."

Ray studied him. "You died."

"I didn't take it seriously enough. I figured hey, new city, new name – coast is clear, it's okay to pick up a few old habits." He looked sad. "It took less than a week for the mob to find me. Damn, that was stupid."

"That's… actually that was really stupid."

"I know. I'm just grateful she was able to get my daughter and her kids away safe. The thing I really regret, though, is that Hannah-Rose blames herself. She quit the program, you know. Said she should have seen it coming – me going back to the ponies. And, yeah, maybe, but the choice was mine and I really screwed up," he said. "I don't know why she's coming out of retirement for you, but if you let her, she'll give you a life worth living."

Ray wasn't sure what to say to that. He didn't know why Vecchio had pulled strings for him, or why his buddy Marco was going all out to protect him. And if this woman had someone been brought in to help him build a new life, well, maybe he'd better pay attention. "Thanks," he said. I'll keep an open mind."

He started to go back to where the other two waited, but stopped and turned, an impulse he couldn't quite understand gripping him. "Hey man, if you could say anything you wanted to someone who's still alive--"

"I'd tell Hannah-Rose that it wasn't her fault. That I took a stupid chance and lost. I'd tell her… I'd tell her that she's damn good at what she does and she needs to use her talents to keep saving lives."

Ray nodded at him and continued on his way, aware of Dief at his side and the sad man trailing behind him.

Stopping in front of Hannah-Rose, he said, "I'm willing to listen to your advice but I warn you, I'll argue about anything I don't agree with."

She laughed a bit and said "From what Marco said, I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Thing is, I need you to listen to me, too. Between us we'll figure out something, but there won't be any one-sided decision making, okay?"

"That sounds fair," she said.

"Good. There's just one other thing. You need to lighten up about the control thing. Stuff is going to happen and people are going to make stupid choices – that's part of the whole being human thing."

"I don't understand."

"Fallaci died because he was hooked on the ponies. He didn't really understand how badly someone wanted him dead, so he didn't take your advice seriously. He's sorry for that, for the way you quit the program. He says you're good at what you do and lots of people are still alive because of you. Him? He's dead because of himself. You did your best and he was stupid."

At the first mention of Fallaci's name Hannah-Rose began to tremble. By the time Ray finished talking, she looked like she wanted to pass out.

Fallaci said, "Tell her I'm sorry, and if it'll help, the notebook that was destroyed wasn't the original. That's in a safe deposit box in Reno. It's her branch and the box is in her name. I just hope she can forgive herself and me for what happened."

"Uh, he's sorry and the notebook that got destroyed wasn't the original. It's in a safe deposit box in your name at your bank in Reno. He, uh, he hopes you can forgive yourself and maybe forgive him, too."

Fallaci smiled at Ray. "Thank you," he said as his image blurred. Within seconds he was gone.

Ray felt a bit queasy. He barely heard a shaken Hannah-Rose's suggestion they talk in a few days, nor was he really aware of Marco's confusion and concern. He must have reassured them somehow because they both left without summoning a nurse.

What had just happened? Slowly Ray and Dief went back inside; perhaps things would be clearer after a nap.

{}

Panic was beginning to set in. After months of torture disguised as therapy, the verdict was in and – oh, god, he wasn't _ready_ to be out on his own yet. Ray curled up on the bed and gripped Dief tight.

 _joyfreejoylove_

He loved the simplicity of Dief's reactions even if he didn't quite share them. At least not yet.

"What's with the deer in the headlights look? Don't tell me you want to stay here?"

Ray sat up and swung his legs to the floor. "Hey, Hannah-Rose! What brings you here?"

"A baby blue Ford Mustang." She grinned at him. "Congrats. I hear you're being sprung in a few days."

"Thanks." He joined her at the table, eyeing the papers she was unpacking. "I guess we need to finalize a few things, huh?"

"Yup. Marco sends his regards. He wanted to be here but--"

"I know. It's his nephew's First Communion. That's cool. Besides, I trust you."

"I'm honoured." She set a sheaf of papers and a pen in front of him. "Let's get started."

While they went over his personal history – for the hundredth time – he set about making his new life a reality.

First up he signed ownership papers for a small house in Maine. They'd picked the location by throwing a dart at a map, and he'd left it to Hannah-Rose to find him a place.

Next came a slew of papers to open bank and credit card accounts. He paused at the balance of his brand new checking account. "Okay, I've been good, gone along with everything so far but – where the hell is this money coming from?" When the woman across from him – now sporting pink streaks in her hair – started in with another vague answer, he cut her off. "No, seriously. I want a straight answer or I'm going out on my own and taking my chances. No more secrets."

Even Dief sat up and stared at her.

Finally she sat back and said, "I don't have all the details – and I don't want them – but the money is from Armando Langoustini's personal slush fund."

Dief huffed and Ray sighed with him. "I suspected but – how?"

"You got me. Marco said The Bookman had him set up a series of overseas accounts and started giving him money to deposit. Why he did it or how Marco got control and lived is a mystery."

"And I get a huge chunk of it for my very own," he said shaking his head. One of these days he was going to sit Vecchio's ass down and ask him how he'd gotten away with this.

Hannah-Rose began looking over the signed paperwork. "I guess all that's left is to book your flight—"

"No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'? I thought this was settled and you were going to Maine."

"Oh, I'm going, alright. That was totally the deal. But we're not flying. I'm not putting Dexter here in a crate. And I'm definitely not going to sit on a cramped plane for god knows how many hours." He glared at her. "And that, Ms. Archambeault, is final."

"Okay, then how about a train – oh, you have got to be kidding me. You want to _drive_?"

"Through Canada."

"Through –"

"And I get to pick out my own car."

"Driving is too much of a security risk. I can't let you-"

"I'm safer going through Canada than through the States since I'm not going to be anywhere near anyone who'd know me. But if it'll make you feel better you can offer an opinion on what I drive." He settled back and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, to sweeten the deal, I'll even let you install that kick-ass security system at the house you were talking about – whatever you want."

"State of the art?"

"Go nuts," he said, hoping he wouldn't regret it. "Do we have a deal Ms. Archambeault?"

"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Mackenzie," she said gloating. Ray had the sinking feeling he'd just been played. Still, as long as he didn't have to fly he wouldn't hold it against her.

Hannah-Rose gathered up all the signed documents and stood. "If you'll excuse me I have a few calls to make if I'm going to have everything ready by the time you're discharged."

 

After spending months in the shelter of a private clinic, being out in public again was more than a little unnerving. At the clinic, no one so much as blinked at his scarring, but outside was a whole other matter. He did his best to ignore the looks as he walked in to the luxury hotel, collected his key and made his way up to the room. He clumsily swiped the key card and opened the door. Dief's happy bark as he ran inside startled Ray.

"You are a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

Ray smiled at his visitor. "Vecchio. Even in Colorado breaking-and-entering is crime, you know."

He held up a key card with a smirk. "You're looking better than the last time I saw you, Mackenzie. Ready for your road trip?"

Ray grinned at the name, appreciating Vecchio's understanding about staying in character no matter what. "The car is loaded, the tank is full and I have more maps and guide books than I know what to do with." Ray sat on the loveseat and picked up the drink Vecchio set on the table beside him. "And before you ask, I'm cleared for driving as long as it's got power and an automatic transmission."

They saluted each other with their drinks.

"Good to know. Just don't overdo, okay? You need to stop, you stop, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks, man, for caring."

In typical Vecchio fashion, he just brushed off the thanks. He set his glass down and stood up. "I got to get back to the conference across town. I just wanted to wish you luck." They shook hands for a moment before Vecchio pulled him into a quick hug. He backed off and looked down at Dief. "You take care of this guy," he said.

Ray shook his head slightly, wondering not for the first time about Vecchio's connections.

Just before he left, Vecchio turned back to Ray. "I got you a little going away present," he said, and then shut the door behind him.

Ray finally noticed the large box sitting at the foot of the bed. He only hesitated a moment before opening it – and proceeded to laugh himself silly. Inside was a portable typewriter, a ream of paper and a large package of whiteout.

When he finally stopped laughing, he took a deep breath and started to believe that maybe everything was going to work out okay.

{}

Dief chased a squirrel along the creek bank, but when the squirrel made a sudden turn, he was unable to follow and ended up rolling down the low embankment into the water. Ray tried to not to laugh, but finally had to give in, much to Dief's disgust.

"You're slowing down D. Good thing I'm not relying on you to hunt my dinner."

Before Ray could get out of the way, Dief barrelled up the slope and stopped in front of him to shake out the water from his fur.

"Knock it off!" he sputtered, wiping at the droplets on his prescription sunglasses. "I swear if I had bungee cords I'd tie you to the roof to dry off."

 _joylovejoyplay_

"Yeah, yeah, real funny," he said spreading a blanking across the back seat. "Let's see how much fun this is when I dump your furry ass in a bathtub."

Dief's indignant yip was music to Ray's ears.

Once the SUV was wet-wolf-proofed they got back on the road. Ray had appreciated the break – he probably shouldn't be doing long-distance drives in his condition – but he was anxious to get to the next town for the night. Visions of a soft bed and a hot meal danced in his head.

Ray had originally intended to get well into Montana by night-fall, but his body wasn't happy about having to sit still for long periods of time. He'd been forced to pull over every so often to stretch out his legs and lower back.

Driving in to a small town – village, wide spot in the road – he pulled up to the gas station and stopped by the pump. By the time he'd hauled himself out of the vehicle, a tall skinny man a few years older than him was there asking if he wanted the tank filled. A quick peek over the rims of his shades let him know the guy was alive. He loved the tinted lenses; the brilliance of live people hurt his eyes especially when he was tired.

Ray sometimes wondered why animals and plants were just normal, but was just as happy that he didn’t see dead animals wandering around, especially given the number of road-kills he’d passed. He rolled his eyes. Great. Now he had ‘Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road’ playing in his head.

"You’re not from around here," the man said.

Ray glanced at his licence plate and then back at man – Trent, according to the name stitched on his overalls. "You don’t miss a thing," said Ray, hearing the snarkiness in his voice but feeling just a little too tired and achy to play nice.

Trent guffawed at that. "Smart ass," he said. "Usually I can tell where someone's from – clothes, attitude, accent, even what they drive. You’re not from here, but I can’t quite figure out where you’re from."

Ray grinned at him, suddenly enjoying this little game. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "Give it your best shot."

Trent studied him as he cleaned the windshield. His eyebrows shot up when Dief poked his head up to stare at him through the glass.

Ray watched Trent, bothered by something in the other man's behaviour; it seemed weirdly familiar. "So, you come to any conclusions?" he asked as he followed Trent inside to pay for the gas.

"Well, the plates say you're from Colorado, but that doesn't really go with the rest, so I figure you were only there a short time – job-related maybe, or some kind of extended vacation." He leaned against the counter and pursed his lips, thinking. "The hair, designer shades and fancy cane mark you as big city. With the attitude I'd have to say New York, maybe, or Los Angeles – no probably the Big Apple. Scars say you've been in some kind of accident. You're sure of yourself, carry yourself like you're used to being in charge. That bum leg isn't keeping you down. If I had to guess I'd say you're a firefighter, probably hurt on the job."

Ray smiled but refrained from confirming or denying anything. But he'd been right in thinking the guy's behaviour was familiar. Obviously he'd been a city cop at some point.

"Now, the sled dog is a mystery," said Trent, pointing out the window to where Dief watched from the passenger seat. "We don't see many like him around here – looks too much like a wolf not to get shot by mistake."

"He is definitely not your typical sled dog," agreed Ray. "A, uh, a buddy of mine from way back gave him to me. Dexter is a little too independent to be a good team dog, but we get along just fine."

Trent laughed. "He's a good companion, I gather."

"That he is." Ray signed the credit card slip and pocketed his card. "Can you recommend a place where I can crash for the night?"

"I know just the place," he said, picking up the telephone receiver. "The B&B isn't open for the season yet, but the owner will be happy to put you up for the night."

Ray started to protest, "I don't want to put anyone out--"

"You're not putting anyone out; she loves taking in strays." He quickly turned his attention to the phone. "Hi Mom. Listen, there's a guy passing through who needs a place for the night – that'd be great. His name's Sebastian and he's got a dog with him, so maybe the annex room behind the kitchen?"

Less than five minutes later he was on the way to a bed and breakfast with a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, two large bags of jelly beans and absolutely no idea what to expect.

Millicent Louise Barker – "Just call me Ma, Ma Barker – get it?" – was not what Ray expected of someone's mother. Certainly she was nothing like his mother or Ma Vecchio, but she definitely had the mom vibe going. He'd barely stepped out of his truck when she's looked him over, declared him underfed and hustled him inside. Ma Barker made it her mission to feed him as much as possible – in between lectures on opera and lessons in how to play cribbage – in the time he was there.

He stayed for four days; it almost broke his heart to leave. He swore on Dief's head that he would keep in touch and, privately, he hoped to get her to come see him in Maine. She could even bring Trent if he promised to bring some of his homemade beer with him.

 

Ultimately, Ray wanted to make his way to the East Coast, but he wasn't limiting himself to a particular route to get there. After all, if his goal was _just_ to get to Maine, he would have flown.

Canada was interesting. This was his first time seeing Canada – well, the main part of it anyway, the part not covered in snow and ice and nothingness for as far as the eye could see. He hesitated at that thought, and in fairness had to admit there was more than emptiness on the tundra when seen through Fraser's eyes.

Ray wasn't sure which province he was in at the moment, but it was really flat. The fields were pretty, however, filled with wheat and canola according to one of the many guidebooks and maps he seemed to have collected.

A whine from Dief prompted a growl from his own stomach so Ray began looking for a place to fill up and get some food. The trouble with traveling off the beaten path was the difficulty in finding gas stations and restaurants when you needed them.

Eventually he came to a service station that had a diner attached. The sign proudly proclaimed "The Slop House: Only restaurant in town, next restaurant 150 clicks away - eat here or go hungry".

He pulled up to the gas pump while he decided on whether to eat. There was a lot of activity in the field across the road, but no one seemed to be hanging out at the restaurant.

The sign on the pump said self-serve, so Ray manoeuvred out of the truck.

"I can do that for you if you’re staying for lunch."

Ray looked up at the boy in overalls staring at him from behind the gas pump. A quick peek over the shades showed he was real. "Depends on whether there’s anything decent, I guess."

The kid, probably around 19 or 20, grinned at him. "The stuff on the menu’s crap," he said. Looking around quickly he added, "Just ask for a grilled cheese and tomato soup. It’s the only thing that won’t have you pulling over in a hurry later on."

Ray snorted. He was pretty sure he’d eaten in places like that in Chicago. "You’ve got yourself a deal," he said, grinning as the kid hurried over. He pointed out to the activity across the road. "What’s going on over there?"

"They’re looking for Jenny."

The hair on the back of Ray’s neck stood up. "She get lost?" he asked, eyeing what he now recognized as a search party.

The kid shrugged but didn’t look up from what he was doing. "Her mom said she went missing after supper yesterday. Folks have been coming to help look for her."

When the tank was full, Ray pulled out his wallet.

A man said, "I’ll take it from here Kyle."

Ray turned to see a large man with a shotgun, and carefully kept his hands in plain sight. He quietly told Dief to behave. Much to his relief the half-wolf immediately lay down again.

The man studied him for a moment. "Just passing through are you?"

"Yes sir. The truck needs gas, I need coffee and my dog needs to stretch his legs."

The man leaned in to look at Dief who growled once but did not move. "He’s well behaved."

"He’s a helper dog so he has to be. He won’t hurt anyone who isn’t trying to hurt me." Ray felt it was only fair to give warning about Dief’s protective streak.

"Not many strangers come out this way. Any particular reason that you took this route?"

Ray didn’t like not knowing who he was talking to, but he wasn’t willing to sass the man with the big gun. "I’m moving from Colorado to Maine. I had a friend once who was Canadian and he always talked about how beautiful the country was so I figured this would be a chance to check it out for myself," said Ray.

He noted the way the man’s eyes kept going back to the scars on his face. "I’m kind of retired now – work injury – so there’s lots of time for sightseeing." Ray glanced at the activity across the way from them. As a cop, he knew that strangers hanging around when a kid goes missing are never a good thing. "If you want to check the glove compartment, I’ve got an envelope with hotel and gas receipts."

"Good enough," he said after a moment of holding Ray’s gaze. He lowered the rifle and came around to hold out his hand. "I’m Mike, Mike Shewchuk, retired RCMP and current town reeve."

He wasn’t sure what a reeve was but suspected it was probably like a mayor. "Baz Mackenzie, wanderer and would-be author, and the furry guy is Dexter." Ray waved his wallet. "I was just about to pay for the gas and grab some lunch."

The kid, Kyle, came out from behind the pumps, but was waved away by the other man. "Just park by the door there," he indicated a space by the restaurant. "You can settle up after lunch."

"Thanks," said Ray as Mike turned away. He’d just got in the truck when Mike turned back. "You might want to stick with the grilled cheese and tomato soup."

 

Lunch turned out to be not half bad. Ray sat outside at a picnic table under a tree with his coffee so he could keep Dief company while the half-wolf stretched his legs. They’d have to hit the road soon.

"Pretty doggy," said a small child.

Ray looked behind him and saw a girl, about five or six years old. He lowered his glasses briefly and almost flinched at the sepia color surrounding her. She was definitely dead, which meant she was probably the kid everyone was looking for. Great.

Ray smiled encouragingly. "He is something, isn’t he? His name is Dexter."

She laughed. "That’s a funny name for a dog," she said. "Can I pet him?"

Dief whined and looked from the girl to Ray and back again. _confusionsorrowpainconfusion_

"That’s up to him, but maybe if you move slowly he’ll let you," he said. "And you should introduce yourself to him, too. It’s not good to have strangers trying to touch you."

"I know. Mommy said never let strangers touch me." She carefully approached Dief and sat in front of him, clutching her teddy bear. "Hi Dexter. My name is Jennifer Michelle Whitehead. May I pet you?"

Dief quivered when her hand approached. Ray watched as her hand stopped just before making contact.

She sighed and pulled her hand back. "I can't touch," she said sadly. "I want to go home."

"I know, honey. People are looking for you."

"Really?"

"Really. Do... do you know what happened?"

She shrugged and hugged her teddy bear tighter. "I miss Donna. I don't know why she had to go away."

Ray said nothing, just let her talk.

"Donna looked after me when mommy was busy, but mommy kept yelling at her because Uncle Tony kept looking at her. I don't know where Donna went. She said she'd look out for me but she went away." Jennifer bit her lip, clearing thinking about something. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Ray nodded. "You can tell me anything," he said, afraid of what she might be about to tell him.

"I don't like Uncle Tony. He doesn't like me, either. I heard him tell mommy that she should give me away because I was cramping their style, but I don't even know what that means. Mommy told me I have to be quiet and do what Uncle Tony says so he won't get mad."

Ray decided he didn't like this Uncle Tony guy. "Does he get mad lots?"

Jennifer shrugged. "Purr-Purr had kittens – she's my cat and the kittens are so cute. Uncle Tony said there were baby ducks beside the pond on the other side of the big fence and if I was good he'd take me there. I ate all my supper and didn't fight with mommy at all. When mommy went to wash dishes he said we could go look. He lifted me over the fence and told me to go right to the water. He lied. Uncle Tony is a big fat liar. I didn't see any duckies." Her lower lip quivered. "He said I had to go in the water and he pushed me, and I fell but then I couldn't get up again. I tried but I couldn't get up."

Bile burned at the back of his throat. He struggled to keep his voice even. "Do you know where you live?"

Jennifer nodded her head and proudly recited her address and phone number. "Donna made me remember it just in case I had to tell a police man."

"That was very smart of her. And you're a very smart girl to remember it."

She beamed at him and then leaned closer. "Do you know what I did?"

He shook his head. "No, sweetie, what did you do?"

"I stoled his chain," she whispered, holding up her tightly fisted hand. "When I tried to get up I grabbed it and it came off."

Ray sat back in shock, his mind reeling at the idea that somewhere there was evidence to convict the bastard that killed this little girl. He started to ask her a question when she suddenly squealed "Donna!" and took off at a run.

A tall girl in blue jeans and t-shirt – and shaded in sepia – grabbed the little girl in a big hug. Well, that explained where Donna had gone.

Holding Jennifer's hand, she waved at Ray and began to lead her away. Jennifer looked back and called "Bye Dexter!" and both girls blurred and disappeared.

Damn. He'd never get used to that.

Ray looked down at Dief. "So now what? It's not like I can tell anyone – who'd believe me? They'd either lock me up as a suspect or put me in a padded room."

"Have to tell."

Ray hugged Dief. "I know, buddy. I just have to figure out how."

He went back to the restaurant and bought a bottle of water and a chocolate bar for the road. He also picked up a copy of the weekly newspaper. Safely back on the road he vowed that at the next town he'd call in an anonymous tip to the police.

 

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
[](http://merples.com/art/Elements_air.jpg)  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 **_[Fraser pov]_ **

 

Fraser sat at a table elegantly set with fine china and crisp white linens. Somewhere in the background he could here large bees humming – a medley of Abba songs unless he was mistaken. It was rather distracting.

Someone at the next table kept insisting, "You really should try the squirrel tarts."

Diefenbaker sat in the chair across from Fraser, holding a teapot and asking if he’d prefer Earl Grey or just a bit of Tetley. Oddly, it wasn’t Diefenbaker pouring tea that struck him as strange so much as the fact that the half-wolf wore wire-rim glasses. "I’m not as young as I used to be," he commented with a British accent. "Lip reading is so much easier when one can see the lips. Wouldn’t you agree?"

The voice at the next table became louder, trying to drown out the bees that were now humming some kind of barber shop quartet type melody. "Fine! If you won’t have the squirrel tarts then you have to get up."

Fraser turned to look at the speaker and was confronted by the Phantom of the Opera wearing a Winnipeg Blue Bombers football jersey. He stared at the man as he insisted that Fraser had to get up.

His arm was shaken and he heard a woman say "Wake up." He blinked his eyes trying to reorient himself, noticing for the first time the woman sitting beside him. A quick look around confirmed he was on an airplane. Right. He’d drifted off after leaving Edmonton.

"Hey, are you okay? That must have been some dream you were having," she said quietly, removing her hand from his arm.

"What? Oh, yes, I suppose… My apologies if I disturbed you," he said, nervously smoothing his hair back.

"I'm not the one who was disturbed. Whatever you were dreaming about was obviously upsetting you."

He heard the question in her comment but chose to ignore it. "Ah. In that case, thank you for waking me."

"No problem," she said. "We're about 30 minutes out of Toronto. In case you were wondering."

"Oh. Right. I suppose I'd best--" he gestured toward the toilets. "Please excuse me."

Safely locked inside the cramped room he moistened a paper towel and wiped his face in an effort to regain his composure. He hadn't had a restful night's sleep over two months, and it was beginning to show. His temper was frayed, he had bouts of tremors and he was pretty sure he was sinking into a depression.

Heart rate slowing finally, Fraser sat on the closed toilet seat and tried to rebuild some level of calm. Needing to gain some perspective on his life, Fraser had accepted an offer to attend a series of seminars in Toronto. He'd never really spent time there so he would not likely be battered by stray memories, things best left buried.

A few minutes later he felt strong enough to return to his seat. On the way he nodded to the attendant who told him they were preparing to land.

The shuttle ride from the airport to the hotel was uneventful; he deliberately did not look at the activity on the sidewalks, did not think about chasing down purse snatchers with his partner yelling at him and his half-wolf friend racing ahead.

Fortunately his room was at the same hotel as the conference on cultural diversity. He’d paid extra out of his own pocket to ensure a room to himself. The welcome reception and registration were being held at the same time so Fraser had no choice but to brave the crowds in order to sign in. Once that was done, however, he found the crowd to be too much. He excused himself from his conversation with an officer from Halifax and ducked out the nearest exit.

He walked for a couple of hours, just wandering the streets with no destination in mind. It wasn't until he stumbled against the wall of a building that he noticed the hunger pangs. He asked a passerby the time, smiling his thanks at the response. Fraser hadn't eaten since leaving home early that morning; no wonder he was unsteady on his feet.

Fraser looked around, feeling disoriented. He had no idea how long he been walking, nor did he know where exactly he was. However, he spied a diner across the street and decided to go in and have something to eat, perhaps even get directions back to his hotel.

The diner appeared to be in good repair, which boded well for the sanitary state of the kitchen. He nodded to the woman behind the counter and made his way to a booth near the back, away from the random groups of people gathered near the front of the shop. His eye was caught by a man sitting at the counter and he almost stumbled at his incredible resemblance to Ray Vecchio. For one surreal moment, Fraser was afraid that he was in fact in Chicago and that the past three years had never happened.

But he wasn't in Chicago and the years had happened and Fraser regained his balance and kept walking, eyes fixed on his destination. He sat, ordered coffee, toast and eggs and then proceeded to study the nicks and scuffs in the table-top. He was so focused that his surroundings became vague background sounds; it was no surprise that it took him awhile to realize someone was talking to him.

"Bennie?"

The name echoed in his head. He hadn't heard that since... since The Call.

"That is you, right Bennie?"

Reluctantly Fraser lifted his gaze. Ray Vecchio sat across from him, worry adding lines to his face. "Hello, Ray."

"Hey there. You were starting to worry me," said Ray.

"My apologies, Ray. I was deep in thought." He studied his one-time partner. "You look good, Ray. Life seems to be treating you well."

"Yeah, well, not getting shot at can do that for a guy." Ray frowned. "I wish I could say the same about you, though. Man, you look like shit."

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Ah, don't get snippy. I mean – Jesus Fraser, you look awful. Are you sick or something?"

"Or something," he said, turning to smile at the waitress who brought his meal. "Thank you kindly."

Ray requested another coffee and a slice of pie. They ate mostly in silence, with only comments on the weather and general 'how have you been' queries as conversation.

Fraser pushed his half-eaten meal aside and cleared his throat a few times. "I-I never thanked you for calling me about Ray," he said. "It was appreciated. As were the news clippings you sent. It took some time for them to follow me as I was transferred shortly after the call."

"Not a problem, Bennie. I figured you'd want to know."

"I always wondered... what happened to his turtle?" It wasn't the question he wanted answered but it was the only one he could ask at that moment.

Ray grinned. "If you can believe it, Welsh has him. Kowalski gave him to Welsh to take care of before going undercover, and he decided to just adopt the stupid thing. Last I heard he has a custom tank in the office."

"Ah." He fiddled with the cutlery, position of his coffee cup and the salt and pepper shakers while he tried to summon the courage to ask his next question. "And what of – you said he'd left instructions in case of his-his passing but you never said-" he fumbled for the words. "What happened to Diefenbaker?"

Ray's expression was troubled and Fraser immediately braced for the worst.

"Stanley's instructions were for me to take the wolf and, if possible, send him back to you. Otherwise I was supposed to look after him." Ray refused to meet his eyes. "I tried to do what he wanted but Diefenbaker, well, I guess he wanted none of that. He's, uh, he's with Stanley."

Fraser closed his eyes against the burning that welled up in them. The sharp feeling of loss tore at him, and it was as though he were losing Ray all over again; that Diefenbaker was also gone was more than he could take. He struggled to breathe and wondered why his body bothered.

"Hey, Bennie, easy there. Come on, breathe." Ray was beside him, wrapping an arm around him, sheltering him from prying eyes. "Let's get you out of here."

He was in a taxi with no recollection of how he got there. Ray was beside him talking to him, but he couldn't really focus. Did Ray pay for his meal? He would have to remember to reimburse him at some point. Ray kept talking and Fraser just drifted along, the words making no sense.

"You are so stupid, you know that? The both of you. Why didn't one of you say anything about you two having a thing, huh? Things could have been done different if I'd known. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a fuck up."

Fraser heard the words but just couldn't make sense of them. He closed his eyes and let the motion of the taxi lull him into a meditative state. He'd sort things out later. Perhaps.

He allowed himself to be herded into a hotel, into an elevator and into a room. He stood there, looking around but not really processing anything. A hand on his arm guided him to the bed where he was encouraged to sit.

"Here, try this." Ray handed him a glass of dark amber liquid, which he gulped down.

The burn made him want to cough but he forced his breathing to be steady and held out the glass for more. It was not the best quality, but it did warm him inside, and he'd been colder than he'd realized for so very long. Fraser held out the glass, silently asking for more.

Ray didn't make him talk, for which he was grateful. Everything had been so of late. Had his life – everything he believed in – had it all been a lie? The North wasn't home anymore. The RCMP wasn't the ideal he'd been raised to believe it to be. The laws he'd sworn to uphold seemed to be more advantageous to the perpetrator than any kind of protection of the victim. Was everything a lie? Or had he somehow managed to fool himself? If everything was a lie then what did he have left? 

"Jeez, when did you get so screwed up, huh?" Ray took the bottle from his hands. "And no more of this for you."

Fraser's gaze tried to follow Ray's movements. When had he started drinking from the bottle? A more disturbing thought made its way through the haze. Had he been saying all that out loud?

"You have indeed, my friend. More to the point, you still are. Good thing you didn't drink like this when I was gone or you'd have blown the whole thing." Ray pulled over Fraser's booted feed and lifted his legs, forcing him to fall back across the bed. "You, my friend, have absolutely no filter when you're snockered."

"Oh." He watched as Ray shook out a blanket. "What are you doing?"

"Tucking you in, but don't expect a goodnight kiss."

He thought about that. "Why?"

"I like you, Bennie but you're not really my type, so no kisses for you."

"Oh. I mean why are you tucking me in?"

"You need to sleep this off, whatever _this_ is. I'll take you back to your hotel after breakfast."

Ray tucked the blanket around Fraser and proceeded to get ready for bed. Fraser tensed when he sat on the other side of the bed.

"Chill, man. We're going to sleep, okay. I've had a long crappy day and need to crash in the worst way." He turned out the lamp and settled down after a bit of fidgeting.

"Ray?"

Ray sighed heavily. "Yeah?"

"Why are you in Toronto? You said it was a family thing but..."

"My cousin Gina's oldest got into some trouble and I was elected to come up. I guess everyone thinks I don't have a job or something." There was the sound of a yawn. "Turns out he got his girlfriend pregnant and quit university to marry her. Got him to go back part time, work part time and man up and marry the girl. She's not bad; popped him one for quitting school."

Silence filled the room and Fraser thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Won't be easy, especially with his folks, but I think they'll be okay. She won't take any shit from him and he loves it." Another yawn. "Go to sleep, Fraser."

Without another word, Fraser pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes. He hoped that the dreams would be quiet ones so he didn't disturb Ray.

 

The only bright spot in the entire conference had been meeting Ray. The sessions themselves were boring and he couldn't see how they related to law enforcement in the Territories. It seemed to him that the oil companies and other corporations and government officials would be better off attending.

To get through the endless sessions of double-talk, Fraser picked up a paperback novel in the gift shop. It was not an overly thick book so he could disguise it inside the binder of reading material he was supposed to be working through. The noir style detective novel was an enthralling read. Something in the grittiness of the characters appealed to him and he used the break between afternoon and evening sessions to seek out a bookstore and stock up on more of them. At least he'd managed to get _something_ out of the conference.

{}

The summons to Sgt Tillman's office did not come as a surprise. Fraser had in fact been expecting it for almost a month. The transition from his previous posting had not been a smooth one.

"Sir?"

"Shut the door, Corporal." Tillman leaned forward, and crossed his arms on his desk. "Have a seat."

Fraser settled into one of the chairs in front of his desk and waited.

He opened a thick folder and began sorting the contents. "Corporal, I've been going over your file and frankly I'm a little confused."

"Sir?"

"Your record is a mixed bag. On one hand you're ability to get the job done has garnered commendations. On the other hand, you have shown a remarkable lack of... political tact, which I believe resulted in your transfer to Chicago where you spent a considerable amount of time lobbying for a return to Canada. During that time, you also turned down transfers to Quebec, Nova Scotia and Labrador. Is that correct?"

"That is essentially correct, yes Sir."

"Uh-huh. Since your glorious return to us in the North you have been cited for insubordination, not following procedure and, as I understand this notation from your previous posting, you are a general pain in the ass."

"That is his opinion, Sir."

"More than an opinion Corporal Fraser, it means no one is able to work with you for any appreciable length of time. To be honest I'm surprised you lasted here as long as you have." He took off his glasses and tossed them on to the desk. "And your attitude, especially toward decisions rightfully made by headquarters, has become intolerable."

Fraser said nothing, which seemed to irritate Tillman, who straightened the pages of the file and slapped it closed. He picked up an envelope and handed it to Fraser. "In two weeks you will report to your new posting. As of--"

"I decline the posting. Sir."

"Excuse me?"

Fraser stood up and straightened his jacket. "I decline to be reassigned."

Tillman stood as well. "Corporal Fraser, this is not something you have a say in. And if you continue in this vein you will be demoted--"

"Actually, you are incorrect; I do have a say in what happens to me," said Fraser, reaching into his jacket to pull out an envelope which he held out to his superior officer. He watched the other man's expression as he opened and read the letter.

"What the hell is this?" He looked up at Fraser, disbelief etched on his face. "You're _quitting_?"

"Retiring, actually. I have sufficient time in service to qualify for a reduced pension. If you'll check the next page, you'll see that it has already been approved."

"Are you insane? That's not much to live on, you know. What are you going to do? Work at a Wal-Mart in Yellowknife to make ends meet?"

"That really is not your concern," said Fraser, smirking as he thought of his investments. Since his personal needs were minimal, he'd managed to invest in a variety of bonds and income certificates. He was not rich, but he would not go hungry either. "I am willing to work until the retirement date, but will understand if you would prefer that I take my remaining vacation days and accrued overtime hours instead."

Tillman seemed to be having trouble speaking.

"I'll leave you to decide the best course of action," said Fraser. "In the meantime I would like to finish my report." Without waiting for permission he executed a perfect about face and left the office.

 

Fraser was almost done sorting through the few personal effects in his room. Some things were to be given away or tossed out while other items were destined for storage. A very few select personal mementos were carefully packed for travel with him. The phone rang while he tried to decide what to do with his uniforms.

"I would have paid big money to be a fly on the wall."

Fraser grinned. "Hello, Bear. Do I want to know how you knew about this?"

"Probably not," he said laughing. "Let's just say I have my ways and leave it at that."

"No doubt that would be best for my peace of mind," agreed Fraser. "What's up?"

"Just checking in to see how you're doing. How _are_ you doing?"

"I'm fine. No trauma, you have my word. This is... for the best, really. And it’s been a long time coming."

"So what are you going to do? I know you C.R. and you do _not_ take well to boredom."

"I thought maybe I'd travel a bit, ease into civilian life, so to speak." He recognized the 'need a favour' tone of his friend’s voice. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well, if you’re going to be in the neighbourhood, I thought maybe you could help me with a project – a new business venture actually, but I think you’d like it."

Bear and business ventures didn’t always go well together, so Fraser was a little wary. "I was actually planning to head south, but I suppose I could detour--"

"That’s perfect. I’ll meet you in Cow Town. There’s a new bookstore on Stephen Avenue – they’ve got a coffee shop in there."

"That sounds agreeable. I can be there… uh, late Tuesday, so maybe we can meet Wednesday?"

They finalized the details and then Fraser was left wondering what he was letting himself in for. He reached for his uniform, still uncertain whether to keep it or throw it out.

"It would be a shame not to keep it."

Fraser froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in almost a year. "Hello Dad," he said, turning around to face his father.

"Son," was all he said as he looked around the chaos of the room.

"Is this a social visit, or are you just here to express your disappointment in me?"

"Benton!"

Fraser jumped. He hadn’t heard that particular tone from his father since the incident with the badger and the jar of honey. He hadn’t been able to sit down for week.

Fraser carefully turned to look at his father, who studied him carefully.

"You honestly believe that. Dear Lord, you actually – yes, of course you do. Why would you think anything else?" Bob looked distraught. "Oh, Son, I am so very _very_ sorry."

This was not what he expected to him to say. "Sorry for what Dad? I don't understand."

His father leaned back against the dresser. "For-for _everything_. Son, Benton, I did you a terrible disservice. I have always been proud of you," he said. "I _am_ proud of you."

Fraser shook his head slightly, a part of him denying what he was hearing. "Even though I'm leaving the RCMP?"

" _Yes_. I won't deny I was thrilled that you wanted to follow in my footsteps – what father wouldn't be proud of that? But all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. If being happy means being an officer of the law that's fine, but if being happy means following a different path then be happy, Benton."

"Dad I-" he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

He watched his father wipe his eyes. "I'm so sorry I never told you."

They each looked away, overcome by the moment. Fraser was unsurprised, but also unhurt when he looked up and saw that his father was gone. He wondered if he'd see him again, but for the first time did not feel abandoned by his sudden disappearance. Perhaps this had been the last of the unfinished business that had kept him earthbound.

{}

Fraser hated big city driving; everyone was insane and the rules of the road were apparently treated as mere suggestions. Barely braking in time to avoid hitting the car ahead of him, he was relieved to see his hotel up ahead. As he pulled in he was pleased to note the attached coffee shop was still open. It had been a long day on the road and he hadn't bothered stopping for supper, eager to get to his destination. The more distance he put between him and the life he was leaving behind, the easier he found it to breathe.

The next morning he made his way to Stephen Avenue, leaving his truck behind and relying on Calgary's transit system. The journey did not take as long as he'd expected and he found the quirky little bookstore with no problem. As he was almost half an hour earlier than arranged, he decided to explore the 'Ye Olde Bookie Jointe'; perhaps they carried the gritty detective novels he'd become addicted to.

He was perusing a selection of novels with lurid covers when he heard a familiar voice.

"I didn't think you were into this stuff," said Bear, coming up behind him.

"I have aways enjoyed reading," said Fraser. "Or, were you referring to my choice of reading material?"

"The reading material, dude. Since when are you into _noir_?"

"It's a recently acquired taste," he admitted, adding another paperback to the growing pile on the shelf in front of him. "For a small store they have a remarkably diverse collection of books."

"Why don't you pay for those while I get us a table at the restaurant?" Bear pointed to the back of the shop. "Second floor; we should be able to get a window overlooking the avenue."

Purchases in hand, Fraser finally made his way upstairs.

They made small talk over coffee and pastries, catching up with news of distant friends. After the dishes had been cleared and more coffee poured, Bear broached the topic of why he'd called for Fraser.

"Do you remember Katie Shewchuk?"

Fraser thought for a moment. "Vaguely. She was at Depot, right? Tall, dark hair, dropped out two months in? Her father was an instructor, I believe."

"That's her. About five years ago, her father retired and ran for reeve in their hometown." Bear fiddled with an empty sugar packet. "About a year, year and a half ago, this little girl went missing. Her body was found in a retaining pond, bundled up in small branches and weighted down with cinderblocks."

"Did they get the person who did it?"

"Yeah. The mother's boyfriend. The mom was arrested, too, for the disappearance of the babysitter. It was just a fucking mess from the get-go." Bear hesitated. "The retaining pond was behind a large barrier, the kid couldn't have got there on her own so everyone was searching the fields."

"But they found her."

"Yeah. That's the weird thing. There was an anonymous tip phoned in that she was in the pond and that they had to be careful because she had evidence clutched in her hand. Now, who'd know this except the killer?"

"No one. It's not possible -- unless he had an accomplice."

"That's what they thought, too. But this Frank guy was working alone. I mean, according to the locals he didn't socialize, didn't have friends and no one came to see him. No evidence that anyone else was involved." Bear began stacking creamers. "Anyway, they arrested him for her murder and he'd been waiting trial in a high-security facility until the corrections service made a mistake and let him go."

"Oh dear."

"That, my friend, is an understatement." Bear pushes his empty cup aside and sits back. "No surprise that he's in the wind. The whole town is in an uproar, and the reeve, Mike Shewchuk, is taking this personally. A friend of a friend put him in touch with me. My business – which is totally legit by the way – involves finding lost items, not people, but if there's a way to get that bastard then I'm in, you know?"

Fraser did know. "How can I help?"

"I was so hoping you'd ask. You've got a real gift for tracking, getting into the head of a criminal, figuring out what his moves will be." Bear leaned closer. "I can handle getting info, getting into databases and shit, but you my friend, you are the tracker."

Fraser could feel his cheeks heat at the compliment, but was not one for false modesty; he was an excellent tracker. "When do we leave?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning?" asked his friend. "I'm not sure yet about payment, but I'll definitely see that you're taken care of, especially since you're not working anymore."

"Don't worry about that. Let's just find this man and get him back behind bars. "

They made arrangements for Fraser to pick up Bear and head out early the next morning. Fraser felt a tingle along the back of his neck – anticipation of the hunt.

Fraser and Bear parted company, with his friend needing to get back to his office and pack up whatever equipment he'd need. Fraser took the time to browse the book selection on his way to the exit. He was about to leave when a book cover caught his attention. The cover was in the same style as the paperbacks he'd purchased earlier, but it was the title and author that drew him. _Hot Ice: A Lou Scagnetti Novel by Stanley R.K. Fraser _.__

 _His heart thudded painfully in his chest and for one horrible moment he thought he would pass out. He pulled the hardcover book off the shelf and read the dust jacket. It looked like an interesting story – definitely his genre – but he could find nothing useful about the author. There wasn't even a picture._

 _He wasn't a man to believe in coincidence, but was hard pressed to believe that this meant nothing. Fraser took the book to the checkout._

 _The clerk's smile widened when he saw the book. "Oh, man, you are going to love this! It's even better than the other one."_

 _"I'm not familiar with this writer," said Fraser. "How many other books has he written?"_

 _"Just one other, but a couple of Lou Scagnetti short stories appeared in a few magazines as teasers," said the clerk. "Hang on a sec, I think we just got in a shipment of his other book if you'd like to read it." Without waiting for a reply, he excused himself and went to the back room. He emerged less than two minutes later with a paperback novel. _Green Fire: A Lou Scagnetti Novel by Stanley R.K. Fraser_ stared up at him._

"What do you know about the author?" asked Fraser.

"Not much. A couple of print interviews were done, but no one's actually met the guy. Apparently he's some kind of recluse. One theory is he's a cop or firefighter injured when the Twin Towers fell. He writes like he knows about being on the front lines, so maybe there's something to that." The clerk laughed. "Of course the guy could actually be someone's grandmother writing stories between batches of cookies."

Fraser grinned in acknowledgement of that possibility and paid for both books. He left the store with several books in his bag and a lot of questions buzzing around his head. However, he had a job to do, so he put the mystery of the writer away until he had time to consider the matter more carefully.

 

Fraser didn’t mind highway driving as much as he did city driving, especially on the less travelled roads. Bear was an amusing companion, offering bursts of trivia on everything from details on crops, incidents of UFO sightings and a bizarre recipe for road kill stew.

The town was little more than a small collection of buildings along a main street. They pulled up in front of the diner and went inside. Fraser laughed at the ‘take-it-or-leave-it attitude on the sign. “I suspect we should stick with a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup,” he said.

“How do you know that’s on the menu?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn't,” comment Fraser. He went over to the waitress behind the counter. “I’m looking for Mr. Shewchuk?” She pointed to a table in the back where a man in his mid-sixties sat.

As they approached, he stood to greet them. “I’m Mike Shewchuk,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

Bear held out his hand and completed the introductions. “I’m Carl Moscovitch and this is my associate Ben Fraser.”

Once they were seated, Shewchuk laid out the situation. “He was waiting for the trial to finally start after his lawyer asked for a postponement and some idiot listed him as being released on parole – don’t get me started on that,” he warned, muttering something about idiots. “Anyway, this guy’s in the wind. He’s got gang ties in Winnipeg so the police there are watching for him.”

Fraser frowned as he concentrated on the situation. “But you don’t think he’ll go there.” It wasn’t a question.

Bear agreed. “There’s been a series of gang busts lately so he may not be able to hide there.” He tapped the table. “Do you have a file or something on him?”

Shewchuk pulled a large envelope from the seat beside him. “This is a copy of everything we have,” he said. “If there’s even the remotest chance in hell that you can get him…”

Fraser assured him, “We will.”

When the man left, Fraser and Bear discussed strategy. “I need detailed maps of the area – road maps, topographical maps, whatever you can find.”

“What area?”

“Saskatchewan, Alberta, Manitoba, maybe Northwestern Ontario – all the areas bordering on the U.S.”

“Consider it done,” said Bear. “Let’s get checked in and I’ll get the ball rolling.”

It had been almost ridiculously easy to plot the fugitive's movements. Fraser entered the U.S. at a little watched crossing and picked up his quarry's trail shortly after that.

Almost a week later, police arrested Frank Noble as he prepared to board a bus in Brainerd, Minnesota.

With no reason to hurry back home, Fraser decided Minnesota was as good a place as any to think. Four days after Frank Noble’s capture, Fraser was approached by a bail bondsman in St. Paul to help track a bail jumper. Three weeks after that, Canadian Benton Fraser ceased to exist and American Ben Mackenzie (aka Mac Robertson) was born, courtesy of Carl ‘Bear’ Moscovitch. Fraser had found his calling.

Even after Bear returned to Calgary, he was more than happy to help Fraser any way he could, be it information or sending him the latest tech toys.

Ben Mackenzie’s reputation grew quickly and only a few months later he went freelance, contracting out his tracking skills to various companies around the country, occasionally even helping Canadian authorities.

{}

Fraser carefully pulled his shirt on as the backroom doctor went over how to care for the wound.

"You were a lucky man, Mr. Robertson. If the angle had been better the knife would have done a lot of damage." The doctor handed over a prescription. "Antibiotics. Take them – _all_ of them. The wound is already inflamed; you don't want the infection to get a foothold, understood?"

"Thank you, Doctor. I've been through this once or twice, so I know the drill and the importance of a proper regimen." Fraser picked up his jacket and the prescription. "Thank you for your time," he said, handing over an envelope with enough cash to cover his treatment. With a final nod, he left.

The underground clinic was a risk but his injury would have led to awkward questions at a more reputable medical center. If this had happened to Ben Mackenzie, he'd have gone to a hospital for treatment since, as a law-abiding citizen, he'd have no fear of legal entanglement. However, Mac Robertson operated outside normal society.

He made his way down the alley to where he'd left his truck. Safely inside he opened the hidden compartment and switched wallets and identification. Robertson had served his purpose for the time being. As much as he'd have liked his prey to have gone to jail, the man's death worked just as well to protect society, even if the death had been accidental.

Fraser pulled out his cell phone and called in an anonymous tip to police before putting in a call to his employer. Alive or dead, Dudley Greene, would-be drug kingpin, would ensure a healthy payday.

He stopped at an all-night pharmacy to get the prescription filled and then swung by a deli for a late meal before heading back to his motel. He nodded once to the hooker heading out to work. The main advantage of this place was that no one would ever remember he'd been here once he left in the morning.

He paused outside the room next to his but there was no sound from inside. He'd hoped to have a last visit with the male prostitute who lived there. While Fraser wasn't up for anything too vigorous, a blow job might have taken enough out of him to ensure a decent night's sleep. Day after tomorrow Ben Mackenzie would be returning to his studio apartment in a middle-class neighbourhood; Mac Robertson safely tucked away until the next big job. His work as a bail bondsman paid the rent. His work as a freelance bounty-hunter gave him a purpose – and the opportunity to indulge his newfound baser desires.

{}

With the wound finally healed, Fraser thought about getting out of Minneapolis for a while; being in the city for extended periods of time always left him twitchy. He thought about visiting Bear who had relocated to Thunder Bay, but knew his friend had his daughter for the week and didn't want to intrude. He resigned himself to finding some way to alleviate his boredom without travel.

He spent a lot of time walking the streets of both Minneapolis and St. Paul. He was still on edge, but also too tired to be bothered by it.

An outlet for his restlessness presented itself while he sat on the patio of his favourite coffee shop.

"Hey, Mackenzie!"

He looked up from his book – a new Lou Scagnetti novel had been published, much to his delight – and saw his booking agent hurrying toward him. "Zeller. What have you got for me?"

"Something a little different. How do you feel about Chicago?"

"The musical, the group, or the city?"

"Ha-ha. Listen, something came down the pipe and I immediately thought of you. It's probably not that much of a challenge for you but I figure after the whole Dudley Greene thing you might like something that pays well but with limited opportunity for death or dismemberment."

Fraser hesitated. He wouldn't mind an easier hunt to get back in the swing of it, but Chicago held too many memories.

"I'm listening," he said, already making a mental list of things he needed to do in preparation.

Zeller made himself comfortable. "You're looking for a dead man, a low-level drug runner name of Shawn Vickers. He was supposedly killed in an explosion at a drug lab."

"I don't see--"

"Oh, it gets better. Rumours have circulated for years that Vickers had been either an informer or an undercover cop. Now, recently, those stories have started implicating the new States Attorney in Chicago, Daniel Ingram, in whatever went down when Vickers was supposedly killed. Ingram wants to know the story behind the stories."

"Is Ingram dirty?"

Zeller shrugged. "He says someone, probably someone he sent away earlier in his career, has started a smear campaign to discredit him. He wants someone to look into the source of the rumours and whether Vickers is dead or alive." He grinned. "And he's paying top dollar to get this done as quietly and quickly as possible. Naturally I thought of you."

"Naturally." Fraser considered this for a moment. He could finally say goodbye to Ray, visit his grave, maybe check up on what had really happened. When Ray Vecchio had called, he'd been too stunned to take in all the details.

"Let's say I agree to this--"

"Full autonomy. You don't answer to him, even if he's footing the bill. He understands that the person I send will be the best but the investigation will be thorough and impartial, and totally free of interference." Zeller looked hopeful. "So?"

Fraser heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head slightly. His instincts told him to walk away. "I'm in. When do I start?"

Zeller pulled an envelope from his jacket. "A copy of the complete file will be delivered to you when you arrive, but here are the basic details and a list of possible contacts, including someone with the police--"

"I think it would be best not to involve the police, at least not at this stage."

"This is your show, Mackenzie, so you do what you think is best."

They discussed a few more details before Zeller hurried off, citing another appointment.

Fraser sat back and pondered the upcoming job. Chicago. His eyes fell on the book he was reading, _Frozen Flames: A Lou Scagnetti Novel by Stanley R.K. Fraser_ , and he wondered.


	4. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post CotW. They survived the Quest for the Hand of Franklin, but an impulsive act and an unguarded reaction drives a wedge between them, shattering their hearts and lives. Now they must embark on a different kind of Quest. Over the course of a decade, Ray and Fraser find themselves on separate journeys, one that may eventually bring them to where they are truly meant to be.

_I come from a seafaring family – fishing, Navy, explorers, even a buccaneer or two. There was never a moment when I feared the water; respect, yes, but never fear. The tides wash the shoreline clean, provide food, and carry vessels to faraway places. I can remember falling asleep in a rocking boat while my father fished. --- Lizzy Gordon, 19, drowned when Titanic sank, 1912. (excerpt from 'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased')_

 **_[RayK pov]_ **

 

Ray never thought he'd see the day when he'd call a small town home. Sure, there was maybe a time when he'd thought about living in the Great White North, but that had only been a vague dream. As it turned out, it was a good thing he hadn't pinned his hopes on that star.

He nodded to a few acquaintances as he wandered through the town square. He and Dief were familiar figures to the locals, dropping by the bakery-coffee shop every afternoon for coffee and pie. Dief was welcome inside and curled up under the table with his treat. The owner had started experimenting with gourmet dog treats and Dief was the official taste tester. Hence the walks, otherwise they'd both be putting on weight.

"Hey Mr. Mack!"

Ray turned as a young red-haired girl ran up to him. He braced himself for impact as she barrelled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

A gentle wave of _cubprotectloveplay_ washed over him.

He looked over at Dief who was clearly laughing at him. _cubprotectprotectlove_ he sent back to him. Dief wagged his tail in response, letting Ray know he'd been heard. Ray had no idea how he was able to communicate like this with his four-footed best friend, but figured it was somehow connected to the seeing dead people thing. He didn't think too much about it because it was so Dr. Doolittle that it was beyond cool.

On the other hand, he was glad he couldn't talk to any other animals. That on top of the dead people would be just a little much.

A woman's voice echoed across the square. "Rachel Louise you better let that man go before you squeeze the stuffing out of him." The voice was followed by very small round woman with grey peach fuzz hair on her head. "Come to Grandma, sweetie, and let poor Mr. Mackenzie breathe."

Rachel gave him a final squeeze and dutifully let go. "Hi!" she said.

"Hey, kiddo. What's got you all excited today?"

"Pickles!" she said, twirling round and round. "I get pickles!"

Rachel's grandmother, Rebecca, shook her head, fondness for her granddaughter plainly evident. "We were at the market and there was a box of kittens."

Ray laughed. "Let me guess, you're getting a kitten named Pickles."

"Looks like it. I have no idea what to tell her parents when they get back."

"Good luck with that."

"Thanks," she said dryly, stopping Rachel in mid-spin. "Say goodbye, Rachel dear."

"Bye Rachel-Deer!" she said, stopping long enough to drop a kiss on Dief's head before letting her grandmother hustle her away.

"Pickles silly kitten name," scoffed Dief.

"A wolf named Diefenbaker," countered Ray.

"Honourable, dignified."

"And maybe the kitten is green."

Dief glared at him and loped ahead as they continued their walk.

Everywhere they went, they were greeted by someone, each person treating Ray and or Dief with deference and familiarity, depending on the person. Ray had never expected to be _absorbed_ into such a small community as one of their own, but figured it probably had a lot to do with jumping into a swollen creek to rescue a child.

He and Dief had only been in town for a couple of months – barely time for the locals to decide whether to even acknowledge them never mind welcome them – when it had happened. The grandson of the town doctor had gone missing near a swollen creek bed. The town was split on whether the child had drowned or the stranger had done something. Ray however had received a visit from the boy's late older brother who told Ray where to look for the child. He and Dief had set out to find him.

A search party spotted Ray as he struggled to reach a small cave opening rapidly disappearing under the water. He'd called for the child, but unable to get into the opening between the rocks, had sent Dief in. Long moments later, the half-wolf backed out, tugging the child by his jacket. The kid had screamed long and loud in fear, but was soothed when the rescuers, obviously known to him, had shown up.

The sheriff had questions about exactly how they'd known where the child was, and weren't buying his "just a hunch" response. An elderly woman – the sheriff's mother-in-law – had smacked the sheriff on the back of the head and told him to back off, that Ray had 'the gift', whatever that meant. To Ray's great surprise, the sheriff had backed off and Ray soon found himself welcomed as a bona fide member of the town family.

They stopped for a moment to watch some teens tossing around a Frisbee. Ray nodded hello to a sepia-toned woman in a long skirt. The woman nodded in return and continued on her way.

Contrary to that freaky movie with the kid who saw dead folks, Ray discovered that most spirits who hung around did not have unfinished business, nor were they tortured by regret or guilt or whatever. Lots of sepia people who hung around simply liked to hang around.

Ray smiled at the two young boys – one sepia, one brightly coloured – who sat at the top of the slide and waved to him. He wasn't sure if the live boy actually saw the dead one, but supposed it didn't really matter.

By the time he and Dief got home, Ray's limp was more pronounced and he was leaning heavily on his cane. Dief stayed by his side, helping to balance him when needed, but as they approached the house he suddenly barked and raced to the door, which was opened by a grinning and dishevelled Hannah-Rose.

Ray grinned at the sight. "Hello beautiful, I thought you weren't able to get away this week."

She hugged him as he came in. "Change of plans, and Damian really wanted to visit."

Ray looked around. "Well, where is he?"

"Napping. It was a long trip, especially with the storm delay in Raleigh." Hannah-Rose gently but firmly manoeuvred him into his favourite chair in the den. "I've got the coffee on if you want some, and there are some homemade cookies, too."

He gently grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto his lap, flinching slightly at the sudden weight on his bad leg. "Okay, what's with the sudden visit, with cookies no less?"

Hannah-Rose carefully adjusted her position and settled closer, curling against his chest. "I'm tired, Baz, so fucking tired."

He was shocked at the language; she usually reserved swearing for hockey games and stubbed toes. He cuddled her close and waited, knowing she’d elaborate when she was ready. They’ve been best buddies with benefits since she’d helped him get set up in his new life. Ray had been surprised at how much they actually had in common and delighted at the friendship that blossomed.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rested his cheek against her hair. Their first time having sex resulted from one of Ray’s melancholy weeks; too little sleep, too much booze and too many nights alone lowered more than a few inhibitions. Hannah-Rose had been just as vulnerable as she marked the fifth anniversary of her fiancé's death. What could have ended their friendship had instead strengthened it and their casually committed relationship was born.

“Not everyone is going to be able to make their second chance work, I totally get that," she said, breaking the silence. “But that doesn’t make it easier. And when some _bastard_ uses what I gave him to _hurt_ people – he _used_ me! He used me to give him a second chance to –" she broke off with a scream of frustration.

Ray silently asked Dief to check on Damian.

“Sorry, sorry," she said. “No one told me that – he used the life I built for him as a cover to rape. He had a record for this and no one told me, just that he was a witness who needed to disappear. If I’d known I never would have helped him. The agency knows I won’t handle those cases."

“He raped someone?"

“Yeah, more than one woman. He was supposed to be a security guard and instead he used that position to look for victims."

“Was he turned in?"

“For all the good it did. The Agency stepped in to run interference. They moved him; same set up, so he could just go out and do it again." She got off his lap and snuggled in beside him. “At least now he’s dead."

Ray looked at her closely. “He get turned in to whoever he was hiding from?"

She shrugged. “Someone hired a tracker to find him. He resisted and now he’s dead – police in Duluth said it was a case of drug deal gone wrong."

“Nice. Who hired the tracker?"

Hannah-Rose shrugged again. “One of his victims has a rich and protective daddy."

Ray had a feeling that his friend had had a hand in it somehow, but wasn’t about to push. The guy clearly got what was coming to him. “Is that why you’re here? You need a break?"

“I need an out. I can’t do that anymore."

“Are they going to be a problem? You tried to step down before when you found out you were pregnant and they weren’t happy."

“We’ve come to an agreement – it’s not like one of those cheesy spy stories you know. I’m just going to live a quiet life somewhere, raise my baby and… do something."

“You know you’re welcome here, right?"

“I was hoping you’d say that. I could use a safe place to be while I figured out what to do next."

“This doesn’t have to be a temporary thing. You and Damian can stay – permanently if you like." Seeing her hesitation he hastened to add “We don’t have to get married or anything and you can have your own room. I just… it would be really nice to have you guys here, you know?"

She started to answer but was interrupted by an excited shout of “Daddy!" as a fast-moving toddler barrelled into the room, Dief trotting at his side.

Ray leaned forward to grab the boy and bring him up into a big hug. “Hey buddy, long time no see."

While Damian gave him a detailed, albeit not always understandable, tale of his travel adventure Hannah-Rose brought in cookies and coffee and a small cup of milk.

Ray hoped they’d stay. His son was growing like a weed and he wanted the chance to be there for every moment. He glanced over at Hannah-Rose and based on her contented look, he suspected he might get that chance.

{}

His writing session left him too jittery to sleep. This always happened when he wrote action scenes. It was like his body started living the adrenaline rush even if it was all in his imagination. He sat on the lounger out back and stared at the stars. They weren’t quite the same as the ones up north, but close enough for melancholy to tease at him.

“Action scenes, huh?"

He grinned when Hannah-Rose settled on the wicker rocker and rested her feet next to his. “Apparently I’ve got such a vivid imagination my body thinks it’s all real." He nudged her foot with his. “I thought you were asleep."

“I was. You really love writing don’t you?" she asked, wonder in her voice.

“I’m just as surprised as you, but yeah, it… fills something inside. I don’t know how to explain it, but now I can’t imagine not doing this." He took a sip of coffee. At her chastising look he said, “Decaf."

“I was surprised you got up to write tonight. I thought you’d already sent the manuscript to your editor."

“I did indeed, along with a very large, very expensive bottle of scotch." He grinned when she laughed. “My grammar and spelling suck beyond all telling even with me using the spell check thing on the computer. Booze bribes for Hadley are not only suggested, they're a must."

"So if you've got a book in with your editor what are you working on?"

"Sometimes I have two or three projects on the go." He was without going into detail. "There's always another book waiting to be written."

She suddenly yawned, which made him yawn. "I'm almost ready to go back to bed," she said. "You want to come with?"

He was surprised but delighted at the prospect; they'd been sleeping in separate rooms since she'd arrived. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She got up and held out her hand to help him up. "But just sleep, no monkey business."

He took her hand, laughing at her warning and making no promises as to good behaviour. He locked up while Hannah-Rose went to his – maybe _their_? – bedroom. Dief went to the guest room and settled by Damian's bed. The half-wolf was almost compulsive about keeping an eye on the kid, a fact which Ray appreciated.

He slipped into bed and curled up behind Hannah-Rose. She snuggled back against him, already mostly asleep. He wasn't quite ready to sleep but was content to simply hold her as the night slowly became day. He hadn't been entirely honest with her earlier. It wasn't just the writing that had kept him up; a sense of foreboding had been creeping into his consciousness for the past week. Dief obviously felt something too as he'd stuck by Damian day and night, especially night.

The first time a dark shadow approached his home, it came too close to Damian for Ray's peace of mind, although it didn't actually come onto his property. After that, they came in twos and threes, hovering at the edge of the yard but not coming closer, not trying to communicate in any way.

Three days after the first shadow appeared, Hannah-Rose and Damian left to pack up their home in Colorado and arrange shipment to Maine. They were to be gone for at least three weeks.

With his family safely out of the way, Ray drove home, determined to get to the bottom of the unusual activity. He and Dief went around to the back of the house and approached the tree line. He couldn't see anything unusual, but Dief's attitude backed up what Ray felt – they were still there.

"Okay, enough's enough. You want to talk, talk, otherwise get the hell away from my family."

Ray didn't have to lower his glasses to know the half-dozen or so people quickly approaching were dead. It might have been years since he'd done anything even remotely police-like, but he hadn't forgotten how to project authority. "That's far enough guys. Just state your business and go on your way."

The small crowd parted and one man stepped forward. It took Ray a moment place him, but eventually he recognized a snitch he'd used during his last undercover op. "Hey, Twitch. I'm thinking this isn't a social call."

Twitch shrugged. "You didn't finish the job, man. You promised you'd take down the bastard supplying the shit on the street but he's still at it – you left, man, and he's getting rich."

The mood turned dark and ugly. He could feel anger spilling from the spirits gathered in front of him.

"The lab was destroyed," countered Ray. "I know this for a fact – I was there." He indicated his scars.

"Fuckin' Mick wasn't calling the shots; he just followed orders," snapped Twitch. The others shifted restlessly.

Dief whined. Ray agreed; he didn't like what he was hearing. "Okay, say you're right. If Ferguson was a puppet, who pulled his strings?"

Another figure stepped away from the crowd. "The same person who blew your cover," said Tyler Wolowich, the head – _former _head – of Internal Affairs.__

 _"Aw man..."_

 _"If you're wondering, I survived the explosion; barely got away before first responders got there," said Wolowich. "I went straight home, but my wife took one look at me and left with the kids. I'd lost my piece, but there was another gun in the house. I'd fucked up everything else, lost it all, but at least I could still make a clean shot."_

 _For a moment, Ray remembered the lure of eating his gun, back when he was spiralling down. In a way, the explosion had probably saved his life even if Ray Kowalski was dead and buried. Suddenly Wolowich's words registered. "Wait, you're saying Daniel Ingram was behind the drugs?"_

 _"Drugs, prostitution, extortion, whatever," agreed Wolowich. "He runs it all, and now that he's about to become the State's Attorney, he'll be pretty much unstoppable."_

 _The rise of voices murmuring and chanting almost drowned out Wolowich. "Stop him! Stop him! Stop him!" the voices said. The words seemed to come from everywhere, beating down on Ray. When they stopped the silence was deafening._

 _"What do you expect me to do?"_

 _"Stop him!"_

 _"How?"_

 _"Stop him!"_

 _"How am I supposed to do that? I don't even know what's going on there anymore."_

 _Twitch's voice was strong as he said, "But we do."_

 _An aura of anticipation seemed to settle over the group. Ray made a decision – one he might not live long enough to regret._

 _"Wait here," he said, turning back to the house and hurrying inside. He came out with his laptop and settled at the small picnic table near the trees. "Okay, tell me everything you know – names, dates, places, whatever you about any of this."_

 __ragehuntkillrage_ _

Ray reached down to scratch Dief's neck. _huntangerkillkill_ responded Ray.

As each person came forward to tell their story, Ray typed the details into a file. The more people talked, the more details he got, the clearer his plan became. Once everyone who had information gave their statement, they disappeared until the only one left was Twitch.

"Make this right," urged Twitch. "He has to pay."

"I'll do everything I can to make sure it happens."

Rather than disappear, Twitch walked away until his figure melted into the woodland shadows.

Ray mentally reviewed his options. He quickly realized that before he did anything else he had make arrangements just in case this killed him for real. He gathered up his things and went inside to call Marcus and make some contingency plans for his family, just in case.

 

Two days later he was on his way back to the one place he never expected to be: Chicago. Dief refused to be left behind. Even after so many years, he still hadn't quite forgiven Ray for leaving him behind and was determined to be with his friend. Ray reluctantly agreed.

He took the precaution of booking into a lower-class hotel. His scarring would draw some attention, but in some areas, no one would look at him twice. Although Ray Kowalski was officially dead, it wouldn't do to bump into someone who knew him, who might recognize him or Dief and start asking awkward questions.

Using the information he'd been given by Ingram's victims, Ray began planting the seeds of the man's destruction. One of Ingram's victims had already started the ball rolling, managing to get some of his allegations out into the legal community before he was found dead in his own bathtub.

Ray moved around the city reigniting those rumours – truths – wherever he went. On occasion he would appear to be talking on his cell phone and let drop something about Ingram. He would pretend to read a journal and comment aloud about something involving Ingram. He called a few people, posing as a reporter and asking for confirmation of a 'rumour' about Ingram's more questionable contacts, dropping names and dates into the conversation.

Daniel Ingram was not a popular man for all that he attained the title of State's Attorney. People were quick, even eager, to grasp anything that could damage the man's career. It didn’t take long for newspaper columns and editorials began dropping hints and asking questions of their own.

Ray also managed to slip into the Chicago street scene, where he bought himself eyes and ears on the drug scene. Ingram was not a patient man and he would make a move; the question was what kind of move he'd make.

When he'd done everything he could to set things in motion, he waited. While he waited, he wrote, the words flowing freely, another Lou Scagnetti novel on the way.

The call came in just as Ray was beginning to think the plan would never work. Making sure his gun was loaded and accessible, he and Dief headed out to investigate a couple of possible leads. The most important being that recently someone had started quietly asking questions about Shawn Vickers – and the death of a detective named Kowalski.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
[](http://merples.com/art/Elements_water.jpg)  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 **_[Fraser pov]_ **

Fraser never expected to return to Chicago; he'd never _wanted_ to return. There were too many memories, too many reminders of regrets he'd take with him to his grave.

And yet, here he was.

His knowledge of the city streets was still vivid, even after all these years, and he had no trouble finding his hotel. He checked in and then set out on foot to book into another place, this one on the shady side, under the name of Robertson.

It always paid to have somewhere to go to ground if a job got out of hand – and a name that clients knew nothing about.

When he got back to the first hotel, he called his employer to say he’d arrived and then went out for dinner. He wasn’t hungry but knew the importance of regular meals. When he returned, the desk clerk handed him a large heavy envelope addressed to Ben Mackenzie. He went upstairs and settled in with a beer to go through the file. He would, of course, do his own research, but this would let him know his client’s take on the situation.

Fraser read through the newspaper clippings, emails and assorted police reports. At first glance, everything seemed to be a straightforward smear campaign – anonymous letters, rumours making their way into news articles, phone calls - possibly due to a rival. But the more he read, the more things began to feel like revenge rather than career sabotage. After making a few notes, he called it a night and went to bed, determined to get the job over with as soon as possible and leave Chicago and those memories behind.

Walking the streets the next few night, he was surprised at how easily – after one or two false starts – he was able to adopt the persona of Benton Fraser. Some of the street people he'd befriended in his previous time in Chicago remembered him for some reason. He sat with them, ate with them, walked with them and listened to their stories. A few had even approached in the light of day to quietly offer a few words of condolence on the death of Ray Kowalski.

It did not take long for him to notice one name consistently coming up. It was time to call in some help.

Fraser stood at the window and watched as light began to spread light across the city, waiting for his call to be returned. He was so lost in his memories that he actually jumped when the phone rang.

"What took so long?" he asked when he answered the phone. Granted, it had only been 24 hours, but something was driving him to move fast on this.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? I was asleep the first time you called, you bastard, and I haven’t been able to go back to bed since. Normal people sleep at night."

"Then what were you doing sleeping?" he asked. Bear’s lack of coherence when dragged from a sound sleep was always amusing, no matter what the situation. “I hope you’re calling to say you have something.”

He heard Bear’s heavy sigh. “Yes and no. The guy you asked about, Shawn Vickers, is dead. Well, sort of.”

“How can someone be ‘sort of’ dead? That’s like saying someone is a little bit pregnant – either they are or they aren’t.”

"There are some...irregularities. If anyone had really been paying attention – never mind, I'm on my way and we'll talk then. But C.R. I – look, man, I think you should go to ground until I get there." Bear hesitated before continuing, "There was some kind of trip wire on the file but I didn't see it until after. I mean, who puts high level security alerts on an old open and shut case?"

Fraser could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was the same thing that happened just before cornering his target. It meant an already dangerous situation was about to go critical.

"You know how to find me," he said before hanging up.

After a brief consideration, he decided the best option was to appear to go about things as usual, which meant meeting Ingram that afternoon.

He made the rounds of a few places where the forgotten (but not unobservant) hung out at the park and picked up quite a bit of gossip, although little was relevant to his current job. But he made a few mental notes to follow up on some of the stories he'd heard about odd goings on at a warehouse.

All during his outing, he was aware of being watched. At first he thought it was one of Ingram's people, but he doubted the man had anyone in his employ that could blend into the areas where Fraser had gone. Frustrated with being unable to pinpoint his shadow, he walked back to his hotel to change for his meeting.

Ingram was a nervous wreck. On the surface he appeared calm and in control, but Fraser had no trouble reading the fear and near-panic in the man's body language.

"How hard can it be to find out who's doing this?" he snapped at Fraser. "I'm paying you a lot of money to fix this problem."

"Well, this is apparently hard enough that your own people couldn't do anything. It is also sensitive enough that you are paying me, a stranger to the city, a man with no connections, a ridiculous amount of money to find out who is behind the smear campaign."

"I told you, it's one of my rivals."

"And yet you decline to provide a name or any other information that could be useful." Fraser sat back, completely at ease while Ingram became tenser by the moment. "And before you say it, yes you did provide copies of letters and emails but they were heavily redacted. Any information of use in those items had been removed."

"I was told you were the best at tracking," Ingram sneered. "Is this a set up to get more money? I'm already paying you a small fortune for your services."

"Money which has not been touched," pointed out Fraser, suddenly leaning forward and tossing his binder on the desk. "This is not about money. It's about the truth, about having the information _needed_ to do the job."

Ingram began to pace. He finally stopped at the window and looked out at the street below. "Finish the job. I want answers by Thursday." He turned to look at Fraser. When he spoke, his voice was cold and hard. "And I expect absolute discretion. Even a hint of scandal and I lose everything. And if I lose, then you get nothing."

A knock at the door interrupted him. Ingram's secretary came in to remind him of another appointment. Fraser simply stood and collected his binder case from where he'd carefully tossed it. Holding the case so that the papers he'd 'accidentally' picked up were hidden, he nodded to Ingram and his secretary and left the office. He ducked into the restroom for a moment and quickly scanned the papers he'd taken.

When he'd first stood by the desk, he'd noticed a notation regarding a warehouse. Now that he could read the page, it seemed to match the location of the one his sources had talked about. He scanned the paper – some kind of preliminary purchase option – and the others he'd picked up. Finding nothing more of use, he folded the warehouse information and tucked it into his pocket. The other papers were torn into pieces and flushed; they were of no interest.

Fraser was half-way to his hotel when he realized he'd picked up a tail once more. No matter what kind of detour he took, his senses told him someone was following. He returned to his hotel, determined to move to his back-up site.

He quickly packed his things in a small backpack and went downstairs. Ingram was footing the bill, so he didn't bother stopping at the desk. Instead, he had the concierge call a taxi. Since he'd arrived, he'd gone almost everywhere on foot, so taking a taxi would likely throw off his shadow at least temporarily.

He had the driver leave him at the bus station and then he began the trek on foot back to his safe location. He'd no sooner locked the door behind him than there was a knock at the door.

He drew his weapon and peered through the peephole in the door. He opened the door. "You made good time. I was expecting you later this evening."

"This can't wait. I need you to sit down and just let me talk."

Fraser sat.

"Okay. So I'm just going to-to talk. I have to start with this one thing. So, I started looking into the details of what you asked me, about incidents alluded to in the letters, and emails. Not a lot of detail to go on but I'm good at correlating things. It's why you sometimes pay me the big bucks."

"Bear."

"Right. So, Shawn Vickers was a small-time hood who got caught in an explosion – a drug lab connected to a mid-level mobster named Ferguson. It was total chaos when the building blew. Lots of dead and injured scattered all over, some from the lab and some innocent bystanders outside." Bear sat across from Fraser but immediately bounced back to his feet and resumed pacing. "You can imagine the scene at the hospital. So, yeah, Vickers. Someone matching his description was brought in. A few hours later, someone identified as Vickers was declared dead. The body picked up doesn't match the description of the guy brought in."

Fraser pondered that for a moment. "Could this Vickers person have been an informant? Perhaps this 'death' was part of witness relocation."

"I checked because something just wasn't clicking, you know? And there is no record of Shawn Vickers ever existing. I started to comb through the police report – the guy was killed at a drug lab, no known associates, no family, no _history_. That's when I realized someone was trying to get a location on _me_."

"You? Did they – who are they?"

"I logged out as soon as I realized what was happening. I doubt they got too far in tracing the hack because I took the scenic route through servers all over Asia. But I'll tell you one thing," said Bear. "Whoever this Vickers guy is, he's alive – I'd bet my own servers on it."

Fraser's brain started making all kinds of leaps. "Who was involved in the explosion? Who died or was injured that could have a grudge against Ingram? What is Ingram really afraid of...? Exposure?"

"That's a hell of a leap, there buddy."

Fraser barely heard him as he continued to murmur to himself. "Ingram has scarring on his arm, burns. He keeps them covered but had his shirt sleeves rolled up when I arrived. Contacts keep talking about strange happenings at a warehouse recently – monsters and ghosts and mysterious comings and goings. Marcus said his friend disappeared around the time of the explosion. He went to the hospital with a heart condition but his body disappeared and, in all the confusion, no one seemed to take the disappearance of one street person too seriously. Percy, that's it; Percy went in but never came out. Vickers went in and never came out. The body descriptions don't add up..."

"Ben?"

"I just don't know. Maybe something, maybe nothing. I'm not even sure where to start."

"How about the warehouse? We could find out what that's about and maybe go from there."

Fraser grinned at his friend. "I thought you preferred staying behind the scenes."

Bear opened his jacket to reveal his side arm. "In this case, everything inside me is screaming to stay close. But if you get me killed I swear I'll haunt you through eternity. And you'll have to make my child support and alimony payments."

Fraser just rolled his eyes and checked the clip in his handgun before motioning Bear to the door.

Two days and nights of surveillance gave them a chance to get a feel for the comings and goings at the supposedly abandoned warehouse, and to evaluate the security set-up. By the fourth night, Bear had figured out how to get past the system and they were ready to explore.

"Amateurs," scoffed Bear as he did something to the security panel. "We're in, but we've got to be gone before the three o'clock patrol."

As much as Fraser wanted to know what his friend had done, he figured he was better off not knowing. The faint echo of 'Mountie' in his soul would probably feel compelled to arrest him.

Weapons drawn, they began to search carefully for something they could use to finally sort out the mess. For all that Bear now lived through computers, he still retained keen survival instincts and moved stealthily and confidently through the warehouse with Fraser. Together they covered the main floor, photographing their discoveries and erasing any trace of tampering.

The loft area revealed a large office and a small back room crammed with a variety of computers and servers that had Bear all but salivating at the sight. Fraser sent his friend into the back room while he began searching the main office.

Fraser was startled by a softly called, "Jackpot" and hurried back to the computer room.

"These guys? Not very bright. I'd fire their asses if they worked for me. See here? Incompetent ass didn't complete the log out." He clicked the 'cancel' button, grinning when the screen revealed a number of documents. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of blank disks and data sticks. "Give me a few minutes and I'll just grab the fun stuff."

Fraser watched him work for a moment then went back to the larger office. He paged through the calendar and a few files but had a feeling that Bear was on to the most important information source. He decided to keep searching and went back downstairs for a closer look at the shipping area.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard a door open, the sound muted but definitely there. It was too early for the security guard to be doing rounds. He briefly considered going back to warn Bear, but instead chose to investigate. Whoever had entered the warehouse was trying to keep quiet, so the odds were it wasn't someone associated with whatever was going on.

He took a few more steps then listened carefully. Whispers seemed to be coming from the door, which was out of sight of the stairs. He hurried down the last few and melted into the shadows.

"...just a quick look and then we're gone."

Fraser frowned. The voice was vaguely familiar; something about the cadence of it struck a chord.

"Which one of us is the professional here, huh? Let's go."

Footsteps came his way, so he moved behind some crates but peeked around them in hopes of seeing the unexpected visitors. He almost groaned in frustration when the footsteps suddenly veered in a different direction. Fraser moved from his hiding place and began stalking his prey.

Whoever it was moved quietly, if a little unsteadily. An injury of some sort, he decided as he picked up the faint tap of something on the floor – a cane rather than crutch. He focused on the limping intruder while he tried to get close enough to actually see him.

The soft murmur of voices could be heard, but not the actual words. At that point, the oddity of what he was hearing struck him. There was only one set of footsteps and only one voice; he had no idea where the other person was.

For a moment he hesitated, uncertain whether to follow this person or locate the other one. The decision was made for him when he heard a shout and the sounds of a scuffle near the stairs leading up to the office area. Doing his best to maintain the element of surprise, Fraser hurried through the maze of crates and assorted equipment. He cursed himself over and over for leaving Bear unprotected.

He stopped near the stairs and peeked through the narrow opening between stacks of crates. Two thugs held Bear between them and were attempting to force him to his knees. From the looks of the two men, Bear had put up quite a struggle.

Before he could decide on a course of action, a voice called out "You might as well come out – I know he isn't working alone." Ingram stood on the stairs, partly shielded by a large support beam. A gunshot sounded and wood on the crate beside him splintered. "The next one goes into your friend here."

Fraser had no doubt Ingram would do it. Knowing it was useless, but unwilling to sacrifice his friend, he carefully began to stand. Suddenly a deep growl echoed around them. He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He thought for a moment it was a guard dog, but the way Ingram and his goons froze told him there was an unexpected player in the mix.

Another shot rang out, but this one had the men at the stairs diving for cover. Fraser raised his own weapon and took aim at the man still holding Bear, but Bear managed to break free and dove for the relative safety of the space under the stairs.

Fraser shifted his attention looking for Ingram, but the man seemed to have disappeared. A scream tore through the warehouse and Fraser swung around just in time to see one of Ingram's toughs being dragged into the shadows by something large and furry. For the briefest moment he thought it might be a wolf.

"Ben!"

He whirled back toward Bear and saw him point toward the exit, where he spotted Ingram making a break for it. He ran after the man who was trying to escape but was not prepared for Ingram to suddenly turn on him, gun in hand.

Fraser tried to change direction, ducking to the side in search of cover, but a punch to his chest sent him into the wall instead. He was unable to catch his breath and black spots danced across his vision, making him dizzy. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. Whatever had hit him must have bruised him because his chest was hurting. He slowly lifted a hand to his chest, intending to rub at the sore spot but his fingers encountered wetness. He tried to remember if it was raining out, except he wasn't outside...was he?

Yelling and the sounds of fighting surrounded him but he couldn't be bothered to open his eyes, even when the unmistakeable sound of sirens made him flinch.

"Son? Benton, open your eyes."

Dad, he thought. It had been so long since he'd come to visit. Fraser wondered what the occasion was.

Something cold and damp touched his ear. He should recognize it, he thought. It was familiar somehow.

"Benton, open your eyes right now," ordered his father.

He was too tired to obey. All he could do was just let the rain wash over him; it felt soothing.

"Hey, Frase, come on, do like your dad says and open your eyes."

Ray? Ray couldn't be here, he was dead. But so was his father.

Oh. Of course. He was dying and could finally – _finally_ – see Ray again; maybe, if fate was kind, they could be together the way they should have been in life.

Fraser struggled to force his eyes open, but the rain made everything blurry. No, not rain – _couldn't_ be rain – because he was indoors...wasn't he? He father and Ray kept telling him he had to open his eyes, so he kept trying and was reward by the sight of his father's face. He looked worried.

"That's it, buddy. You can do it. You'll be fine."

His gaze shifted over and he saw Ray, face contorted in fear. But that wasn't right, everything was going to be okay now. He studied the face that had haunted him for so many years, except it wasn't quite the face he remembered. There were scars and lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, and his hair was flat, and he was soaking wet. Fraser tried to lift a hand to touch him, to reassure himself that he wasn't hallucinating, that Ray really had come to walk him across into death.

"I need help over here!" shouted Ray before leaning over Fraser. "Don't you fucking die on me."

"Ray..." he whispered before the pain took him away again, the yelling in the background fading away as the darkness overtook him.


	5. Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post CotW. They survived the Quest for the Hand of Franklin, but an impulsive act and an unguarded reaction drives a wedge between them, shattering their hearts and lives. Now they must embark on a different kind of Quest. Over the course of a decade, Ray and Fraser find themselves on separate journeys, one that may eventually bring them to where they are truly meant to be.

_When it comes right down to it, all anyone can do is their best. Sometimes you apprehend the wrongdoer, sometimes you make a complete ass of yourself when you – never mind. The point is that you do the best you can with what you've got. If you do that and honestly say you tried your best to be true to yourself and overcome whatever or whoever is trying to drag you down, well, then you can stand proud. That, my young friend, is the only true peace a man can know in life. The _afterlife_ on the other hand... well, maybe that's best left to personal experience. --- Sgt. Robert Fraser, RCMP, murdered, 1994. (excerpt from 'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased')_

 

 **  
_[RayK pov]_   
**

Ray wished he still smoked; at least it would give him something to do. According to the clock on the wall, Fraser had been in surgery for almost five hours.

He fidgeted in his chair for a while before reaching for his cane.

"I swear to god, Stanley, if you get up you’d better be going to the can because if you start pacing one more time I'm going to pop you one but good."

Ray glared at Vecchio but dutifully sat back and watched the assorted comings and goings. A young police officer with slicked back hair and a large handlebar moustache looked in as he passed by but didn’t stop. A woman wearing an old-style nurse’s uniform hurried by, dodging around the people in the corridor, although she did smile at Ray as she went. An old man in a hospital gown and a young woman wearing tie-dyed skirt and peasant blouse wandered past, the woman gazing at the man adoringly. Ray tipped his head slightly to look over the top of his glasses to confirm his hunch; the man was real and the woman was dead. He couldn't help but grin, however, when the woman looked back at him and gave him the once-over.

Apparently there were a lot of ghosts here – frisky ones, at that.

"Something amusing you, Stanley?" asked Vecchio, looking annoyed.

Ray just shook his head with a smirk and leaned his head back against the wall. A faint sensation of _worrypackloveworry_ washed over him. _loveworrypackpatience_ he responded, hoping Dief could hear him from his hiding place on the hospital grounds.

Ray closed his eyes and worked to project both apology and calm to Dief, who was very upset at being unable to wait inside. But things were different now and the rules had to be followed. After a few minutes of silence he said, "You never did answer my question you know."

"What question?"

"About what a Florida bowling alley operator was doing at a Chicago drug lord's lab." He felt the air around him shift and opened his eyes to see Twitch sitting in the chair opposite him. Ray nodded to him and said, "Thanks."

Twitch nodded back with a faint smile and simply faded away.

Vecchio looked at Ray suspiciously for a moment, then said, "You're welcome." He scrubbed his hands over his face and hair – what there was of it – and sighed heavily before getting up to close the family room door.

"The thing with the feds? They never really let you go. In my case, I became an ‘invaluable resource’," sneered Vecchio. "My time running the Bookman’s organization gave me an in to a lot of things the feds couldn’t get close to."

"I thought you blew your cover getting back here," commented Ray. "You'd think basic survival meant the organization would have changed things up."

"You and me both. But somehow – don’t ask me how, because I don’t know and I don’t _want_ to know – but somehow there was damage control. It's become common knowledge that Langoustini is somewhere in hiding and still pulling strings." He shook his head and crossed his arms and gave Ray a quick rundown of some of what he’d been up to over the years, without giving too many details. "You’d be amazed at how much influence a dead guy can have."

Ray shifted uncomfortably on his chair and turned to look at the man beside him. He was startled to see Vecchio’s mirror image in the next chair. Ray didn’t need to remove his shades to know he was looking at Langoustini’s ghost.

"Uh… I can imagine," he said, keeping a wary eye on the dead mobster. "But you’ve managed to use that influence to protect people, too. People like me."

"For some reason Stella has a soft spot for you, so I…pulled a couple of strings." Vecchio suddenly laughed. "You have to wonder what the Bookman would say about using his resources to protect a cop, huh, Stanley?"

Langoustini grinned at them, sending shivers down Ray’s spine as he said, "You do what you gotta do for family, right? As long as he looks after what’s mine I don’t care what he does. But if he hurts my family in any way, or if _you_ get in the way…" The scary version of Vecchio suddenly glowered at them before getting up and walking away. He turned just before reaching the door and pointed at Ray and said "I’m watching." He turned away and seemed to melt into the door.

Ray jumped when Vecchio’s face suddenly came into view.

"Hey, you okay, man? You turned white as a ghost."

"What? No, I’m – it’s good, greatness." Vecchio didn’t look convinced but before Ray could say anything else the door to the waiting room opened.

Before the doctor could say anything Vecchio was up and moving. "Doc, how is he?"

Ray barely heard the descriptions of the damage done; all he could focus on was the knowledge that Fraser was going to be okay. Fraser was going to live. Ray bowed his head and tried not to cry.

 _joyrelieflovejoy_ he sent to Dief.

 _joylovepacklove_ was Dief’s reply.

He startled when a hand grasped his shoulder and looked up into Vecchio’s concerned face.

Vecchio squeezed his should then let go. "Listen, he won’t be awake enough for visitors for a while so what do you say we go grab a bite before we--"

"I’ve got to go," said Ray, fumbling his cane as he stood. "I’m glad he’s going to be okay but, uh, I can’t stay."

"What are you talking about? You and him--"

"There is no me and him, okay? There’s a reason—" he cut himself off. "I won’t be doing him any favors by staying around. He made it clear that – look, just… just look after him, okay?"

It hurt more than he’d thought possible to walk away, but it was the right thing to do. The past was dead – _Stanley Raymond Kowalski_ was dead. Whatever might have been was dead, not even a ghost wandering the shadows.

He was halfway to Maine before he realized Vecchio hadn't told him why he'd been at the warehouse.

{}

Putting up a hammock was the best idea he'd ever had. Ray swung gently in the breeze, contemplating the way sunlight filtered through the leaves. Dief was curled up under the hammock. After all the emotional traumas of the past week it felt good to just...be.

Hannah-Rose leaned over him. "You look all comfy-cozy. Mind if I join you?"

He grinned up at her. "Sure, but if you dump me on the ground I'll smack your ass."

She paused. "Great. Now I can't decide what do to."

Ray laughed and tugged her into the hammock. "Where's Damian?" he asked once they were settled.

"Play date with the Flaherty twins."

"Twins, huh? Kid's ambitious."

"He is his father's son," she said, idly rubbing her belly. "I hope this one's a girl so I don't end up with testosterone poisoning or something."

Ray gave her buttock a playful smack before letting his hand drift to the faint bump of their unborn child.

They rocked gently for a while until she broke the silence.

"Talk to me, Baz. Ever since that trip last month you've been, I don't know, different somehow." She hugged him tighter. "Please?"

He watched the leaves dance and tried to figure out what to say. "I guess I should start at the beginning. You know some of it but not everything." He dropped a kiss on her head. "So, once upon a time, I used to be a cop and I used to have this partner, a Mountie – a real live Canadian Mountie. And, uh, well, I guess you don't need to know how it happened, just that he was my partner. And one day I realized I wanted him as my _partner_ , you know? My life partner. But he didn't know – I'm good at pretending, so he didn't have a clue. Anyway, after the biggest case ever, we went on this adventure, we went across the Arctic looking for a dead guy's hand. When the adventure – the _quest_ \- was over I got the feeling that we were on the same page but..."

He was relieved that Hannah-Rose didn't say anything, just hugged him and snuggled closer, letting him know he wasn't alone.

"Anyway, I left. We parted on okay terms, kind of awkward but pretty much okay. He even let me take the wolf." He felt Dief send him _lovepacklovelove_. "We tried to stay in touch but neither of us ever really knew what to say and we drifted apart. I went back to work and jumped at every undercover op I could find – took any and all assignments that would let me be someone else, someone who didn't hurt so much."

"Ray." She turned her head enough to kiss his chin before settling back.

"And then one of those assignments went to hell and, well, you saw the end result. For some reason Vecchio decided to help me – how he knew I needed it is one of the great mysteries of the world." He glared up at the leaves above him, still annoyed that he hadn't been able to get a straight answer out of Vecchio about that. "And then I met you and my life seemed to find a kind of balance again."

"You weren't suicidal anymore."

"I was never suicidal." He thought for a moment. "Okay, yeah. Maybe I did take the rougher assignments when I first got back."

Hannah-Rose shifted until she could lean over him and kiss him breathless. "You're never putting your life at risk like that again, you hear me?" she demanded.

"I hear you. I wouldn't do that to you or Damian – I wouldn't hurt you like that," he vowed. Ray felt his stomach suddenly lurch at what he was about to say. "Sweetheart..."

"What happened in Chicago, Baz? Just tell me. We've been friends a long time – even before we were lovers and parents. Talk to me."

So he did. He told her about a corrupt man who'd almost killed him, and Ray's quest to bring him down. He say anything about the ghostly visitors who'd come demanding justice; that was a conversation for another time. But he told her about Fraser.

"I had no idea he'd be there. I just heard about someone asking questions about my cover from way back when. I mean, yeah, there'd been a few whispers about someone looking into my death but I never dreamed it was Ben." He stopped, unable to speak.

Hannah-Rose broke the silence, asking, "Ben, that's short for Benjamin?"

"Benton, if you can believe it. You know I'd never even heard that name before I met him." Ray grinned slightly. "But everyone just called him Fraser. He was always so...cool, like maybe ice water was in his veins. Not cruel or uncaring, mind, just real calm under pressure."

"Sounds like someone you'd want at your back."

"Oh yeah, no one better. Even when he was making me crazy with his lectures on manners or walking into situations without a weapon, he was the best." Ray drifted into memories of frustration and laughter and quiet times.

"Baz?"

"He was in Chicago - Ben. Something bad went down and, uh, he got shot – almost died. I left when he got through surgery and I knew he was going to be okay." Ray cleared his throat. "It was like every nightmare I ever had come to life."

Hannah-Rose hugged him tight. "You love him."

"Never stopped, really," he murmured. Suddenly he realized who he was talked to. "Sweetheart, I didn't – don't think – I-"

She squirmed until she could lean over him, and silenced him by pressing her fingers to his lips. "Babe, it's okay. I know, okay, I _know_. I've always known there was someone."

"I love you, I love you so much."

"But you're not _in love_ with me."

"I-"

"And I'm not in love with you either, much as I really do love you." Her odd-coloured eyes were bright with unshed tears. "And I want you to be happy."

He reached up and tugged a bright blue curl. "That goes both ways, you know that, right?"

"I know."

"If you ever meet that _someone_..."

"I would never take the kids away from you." She smiled a bit sadly. "I appreciate the thought, but I really don't think there'll be anyone else. Henry was my world and after watching him waste away... I'm happy now – I've got more than I ever expected."

He pulled her down into a gentle kiss.

Hannah-Rose settled her head on his shoulder. "Do you think you'll ever see Ben again?"

"Sweetheart – even if I did it wouldn't be the same. That guy, the one he knew? That guy's dead, and I'm different – hell _he's _different."__

 _"But-"_

 _"Leave it, okay? The past is gone and I've made peace with that. But here and now I've got what I want and I'm happy."_

 _"But what about the future, Baz? You bumped into him against all odds. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."_

 _He had no answer to that; he'd been wondering the same thing. "Say – say I did meet him again and we somehow connect, work through everything. I couldn't just push you aside."_

 _"I should hope not," she said, her tone almost teasing. "But what if I choose to step aside? Baz, babe, when we started this it was only going to be an occasional thing, just one friend helping another to scratch an itch, maybe a little comfort now and again."_

 _"But that's not what this-"_

 _"I _know_ that, I do. There is no doubt in my mind that we love each other, but we aren't _in love_. There's a world of difference between the two. We were best friends before anything else, and we'll be best friends no matter what."_

Ray thought about that. "When did you get to be so wise?"

"I'm a mother. Mothers know things men can never truly understand – women know things men cannot hope to grasp."

He lifted his head and frowned down at her. "You've been spending way too much time with Rebecca Armbruster and her tea leaves."

 

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~

 **  
_[Fraser pov]_   
**

 

The antiseptic smell hit him first, quickly followed by the sounds of beeping. Fraser didn't even have to open his eyes to know where his was.

"I know you're awake, so you might as well open your eyes and face the music," said a voice he vaguely recalled hearing in his dreams. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and turned to face Ray Vecchio.

"You know," says Ray, "this is a habit I would really like to break."

"I-what habit?" he croaked out. Fraser was grateful when Ray helped him sit up to sip some water.

"The habit of sitting at hospital bedsides," said Ray. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You coded twice after you got out of the surgery to repair what the bullet did when it ricocheted around inside your chest."

Fraser looked away. "Ah."

"Ah? Is that all you've got? Damn it, Bennie, you were seconds from being declared dead and all you can say is 'ah'?"

Fraser tried to shrug as the memory of seeing his father and Ray surfaced. He'd been so close... "Wouldn't have been so bad," he muttered, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus on that memory.

He heard the hitch in Ray's breath and realized he'd said that out loud.

"Judging by the scarring and evidence of broken bones the doc mentioned, anyone would think you've been trying to kill yourself for years." The chair squeaked as Ray shifted. "So, Fraser – or Mackenzie or Robertson or whatever the hell you call yourself – looks like we are going to have a long talk."

He was surprised when, rather than launching into a tirade, Ray reached for the call button.

"As much as you deserve the shit I am going to pour down on you, I'm willing to wait until the doctor checks you over."

A few days later Ray strolled in and closed the door behind him. His first words were, "Ingram's dead. They pulled the slug out of him, but there's nothing to match it against. The investigation into his business dealings is moving fast, however." He studied Fraser for a moment. "You look like you'll live so I guess we can have our talk now."

Fraser wondered if he could will himself back into a coma. As it turned out, their talk was fairly painless, if only because Fraser acknowledged he may have been taking unnecessary risks.

By the time Fraser was ready to sign the discharge papers a couple of weeks later, Ray had abandoned chastisement in favour of trying to convince him to spend some time in Florida to recover. He'd already had to fend off offers and demands from Bear and a few others to finish recuperating at someone's home. All Fraser wanted, however, was his own home. He had a lot of thinking to do.

Ray's offer, however, was the most painful to decline; he was quite possibly the last link to _his_ Ray. Ray just sighed and ordered Fraser into a wheelchair for the trip to the exit.

Ray stayed with him that first night at the hotel and helped make arrangements for the flight back to Minneapolis, insisting on booking the reservations himself. Exhausted, Fraser simply gave in and slept while Ray organized everything.

After an additional three days at the hotel – nicer than the one he'd stayed in when he'd first arrived – Fraser called down to the front desk to let them know he was checking out the following day. A quick search of the desk turned up the envelope that had been delivered earlier; it contained his plane ticket and itinerary. He hadn't needed that information before, but now that he was ready to leave, ready to move on, he needed to know when his flight left so he could stop by Ray's grave before leaving Chicago for the last time.

Fraser studied the travel itinerary in confusion. Rather than outlining his trip home, he was looking at a trip to Maine. He upended the enveloped in hopes of more information and a smaller envelope with his name fell onto the desk.

 _Bennie,  
This isn't a mistake. I think this might, in fact, be the best thing for you – at least I hope so. If you have any trust in me, if you feel any friendship at all, please, please go.  
~Ray_

Scrawled across the bottom was an address along with driving directions from Portland, and a confirmation number for a car rental.

Fraser sank down in the chair. What did this mean? He reread the note but could find no clue as to what he would find or what he was supposed to do when he arrived. He was tempted to ignore the note and simply change his flight reservations; however, Ray was not one for frivolity and if he thought Fraser should go then... perhaps he should.

 

Early the next morning Fraser checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to the cemetery where Ray was buried and asked the driver to wait. He'd called the day before to find out where the grave was so it didn't take long to find it. The overcast sky fit his frame of mind perfectly as he walked.

Seeing Ray's name on the marble marker made it all so real that he fell to his knees.

He traced the name with trembling fingers. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispered. "I want to believe that you've forgiven me my cowardice. I-I hope that the fact that you were there with my father means you'll be there wh-when I-" He did not finish the sentence, half afraid that if he said it then he might well break his promise to Ray and finish what he'd been subconsciously trying to do for years.

A sudden gust of wind came up and the clouds moved away, permitting the sun to warm him. His heart lifted slightly and he took this to be a sign of Ray's promise to meet him. "Thank you," he murmured as he got up and walked away. He had a taxi waiting, a flight to catch and, for some reason, a lighter heart.

 

The drive from the airport in Portland was uneventful and he made excellent time thanks to the concise directions Ray had provided. The address proved to be in a secluded area and he'd had to stop to ask for directions. The garage owner had looked him up and down and finally asked for identification. "I thought so," he said after examining the driver's license. "You'll do." He then provided more detailed directions, admonishing to "hurry along, now or you'll be late."

Feeling rather like Alice down the rabbit hole, Fraser nodded his thanks and got back in the car. He found the house with no problem.

Several vehicles were parked around the large house and for just a moment Fraser felt his nerves get the better of him. However, he did trust Ray, so if this was where he had to be, then this is where he was going. He slowly made his way up the front walk and knocked on the door. He was trying to figure out what type of person lived there when a child's voice startled him.

"Mommy! There's a man outside!"

A lovely woman with dark skin and bright blue streaks in her hair answered the door. A small boy clung to her leg as she studied him. Suddenly a breathtakingly beautiful smile lit her face. "Oh," she breathed. "You came. You're really here – come in, come in."

Mystified, he followed slowly, certain that he'd just been mistaken for someone else.

As they passed the living room, he noticed framed prints over the sofa – replicas of the book covers of the Lou Scagnetti novels. He paused when he noticed a fourth print. There were only three published novels, but the fourth was clearly another book cover.

The child interrupted his contemplation when asked in the loud whisper only a child could manage, "Is he Daddy's surprise?"

She shushed the boy as she escorted Fraser into what appeared to be a den or office space. She then turned to the boy and said, "Go tell Daddy that Mommy wants to see him in the den – but don't tell him anything else." Once the boy ran off on his errand, giggling all the way, she turned back to him, smoothing her hands over her obviously pregnant belly. "That's Damian. And I'm Hannah-Rose," she said holding out her hand to him.

"I'm... Ben," he replied, shaking her hand.

Her smile widened. "I know."

A man's voice called out, "Sweetheart, is something wrong? D said-" The man stopped suddenly and stared at Fraser, who began to feel lightheaded.

Slowly, the man reached for his glasses and took them off, revealing the unmistakeable green-blue of Ray's eyes; he looked as shaken as Fraser felt. The woman – Hannah, he corrected himself – slipped away and closed the door as she left.

He had no idea how long they stared at one another before the silence was broken.

"Hey, Frase."

"Hello, Ray."

A sudden commotion at the door drew their attention. Ray laughed and went to open the door. "You better brace yourself."

The moment the door opened a large bundle of fur flew at him and Fraser found himself pushed over and flat on the floor before he fully processed what was happening.

"Diefenbaker?"

The half-wolf frantically licked his face, whining and quivering in excitement. The feeling of _lovelovepacklove_ washed over him and he felt his eyes burn as he wrapped his arms around Diefenbaker. "Oh, I have missed you so much," he said choking on the words.

"I took good care of him for you."

Fraser looked up at the softly voiced comment. He gently pushed Diefenbaker back and sat up to look at the man whose absence had left a hole in his soul. He climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," he chanted as he walked toward across the room.

Ray held his arms out as Fraser reached him and pulled him into a hug. He had no idea how long they remained locked in that embrace, but suspected it would have gone on much longer if there hadn't been a knock at the door.

Ray pulled back, wiping fingers under his glasses. "Yeah?" he called out.

The door opened and Hannah poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Baz, but things are starting to break up."

"Ah geez." He turned to Fraser. "Look, there's this get-together happening and-"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can go and we'll talk tomor-"

Hannah cut in, "Don't be ridiculous Ben. We're having a birthday barbecue for Baz; you're more than welcome to stay. In fact, I must insist."

Fraser looked from Ray to Hannah and wasn't sure what to say. Diefenbaker solved that problem when he gripped Fraser's pant leg and began tugging him. "It would appear I accept," he said. "Thank you, Ms Rose."

Ray groaned slightly. "Uh, Ben, it's actually Hannah-Rose. She can be kind of picky about that."

Hannah-Rose narrowed her eyes at him but before she could retort they heard a cry of "Mommy!" and the patter of small feet.

"I better see what he's done this time," she said. "Honestly, I don't know why I don't just change his name to Baz Jr."

"Hey!" exclaimed Ray, laughing.

Fraser watched their byplay and felt his heart clench. "Daddy."

"Sorry, Ben, what?"

"Daddy. And...Mommy. The little boy, Damian, is your son. You and Hannah – Hannah-Rose."

He saw the way Ray paled and feared what might be said next. "No, Ben – well, yes, but not what you're thinking." He reached for Fraser's arm, but stopped just shy of touching him. "We have a kid, yes."

"And another on the way if I'm not mistaken."

"And another on the way, yeah. But Ben, we're not married or-." Ray turned and shut the door. "Look, we've got a lot to talk about and I promise – _promise_ – I'll answer your questions but right now can we, can you keep it together for another hour or two?"

There was no mistaking the earnestness in Ray's expression. And if there was a party of some sort in progress then this was not the time to talk.

"I swear to god Fraser if you try to walk out on me now I'll hunt you down and kick you in the head."

That startled a laugh from him and with the release of tension, he agreed to stay. To his surprise, he enjoyed himself.

A few hours later all the guests had gone, Damian had been tucked in and Hannah-Rose disappeared somewhere in the house. He and Ray settled in the den, side by side on the sofa, with a well-fed Diefenbaker curled up on the recliner.

Not certain how to begin the conversation they needed to have, Fraser asked the first question that came to mind.

"Why does everyone call you 'Baz'?"

Ray laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Because that's my name." He scratched absently at the larger scar on his cheek. "Ingram blew my cover, and when the lab exploded I ended up... well, in a kind of witness protection. To all intents and purposes Ray Kowalski was dead."

"It almost destroyed me when Ray said you were dead and that Diefenbaker had ch-chosen to follow you."

"God, Ben, I had no idea. It was bad at the time and – I never thought, I never let myself think about whether you knew what had happened. Shit man. You, my parents, _everyone_ thought I was dead and I guess I just assumed people moved on, you know?"

"I tried," said Fraser, shifting closer. Hesitantly he pulled Ray into his arms. As much as he was afraid of being rebuffed, that was how desperately he needed to show how much he'd changed. "I had no idea how deep inside me you were – you _are_." In halting words, he described something of his downward spiral. Ray said nothing, just held him and listened.

They clung to one another after sharing a bit of their stories. There was so much more to talk about but for the moment they were content to just rest in the knowledge that they were together, finally truly together.

A yawn and grumble from Diefenbaker roused them from their almost slumber. Ray stretched, saying "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." He got up and looked down at Fraser. "Do, uh, do you have a bag or something in the car? Maybe while I'm looking after fur-face here you could bring it in?"

"That is an excellent idea," he said, hurrying to do just that. When he got back inside, he locked the door behind him and then stood uncertainly, not sure where he was supposed to go. He heard whispers from upstairs, but moved away quickly, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. Bag in hand, he wandered into the living room and stood staring at the framed book cover art on the wall, focusing on the fourth one.

"That'll be released next month, but I've got an advanced copy if you want," said Ray, coming up behind him.

Fraser nodded. "I want."

Ray took his hand and led him down the hall and upstairs. The house was even larger that it looked from the outside, with the upstairs having two wings. "Hannah-Rose and Damian are down there, and we're this way."

They curled up together in the middle of Ray's large bed, still clothed, drowsy but not wanting to sleep. Fraser thought over everything they'd talked about and knew there was still a great many unanswered questions. He did have to acknowledge one very important truth: they were not the men they had been so many years ago. The man in his arms was _Ray_ , but not, just as he was _Fraser_ , but not.

Whoever they were, Fraser knew in his soul that he couldn't walk away. This man resting so trustingly in his arms was his, given back to him by some miracle, and he was not about to throw away the chance to build something with him. It had to mean something that their new personas ended up sharing the same last name.

Experimentally, he whispered, "I love you, Baz." The name was unfamiliar on his tongue, but the taste was still sweet. Baz or Ray, he was loved, always had been, even when Fraser had been too afraid, too wilfully blind to see it. Saying the words felt as though he had somehow come home, so he said again, "I love you."

"You're over thinking things Benton-buddy. The wheels in your brain are keeping me awake."

He snorted at that. "It's Ben, just Ben."

"Fine. Ben, then. Now go to sleep and we'll figure out the rest of this stuff in the morning."

"Well, technically given that it is past midnight one could argue that it's'-"

 _annoyedtiredsleepsleep_ washed over him. He felt Ray – Baz – chuckle and realized his soon-to-be lover had felt Diefenbaker's annoyance as well.

Without another word, he closed his eyes confident that whatever challenges they might face in building a life together, they would do it – together.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
[](http://merples.com/art/Elements_spirit.jpg)  
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Epilogue

Baz hit save and closed the file he was working on. Lou Scagnetti could wait until tomorrow. The box sitting on the side table however was another matter. It contained the advanced copies of his book, which would be released the following month. It was different from anything else he'd written and he was man enough to admit to a serious case of butterflies over how it would be received.

A sudden commotion from outside told him the kids were home. He figured he had about ten minutes before they would demand his attention; they'd make a bee-line for Ben first. With a final look at the sealed box, he pushed away from his desk and went to be with his family.

He paused at the top of the stairs and looked down the towards the guest wing. The house just kept growing and changing. Ben's friends had become semi-regular visitors, especially Bear. However, Baz suspected that Ben was no longer the main attraction. Unless he missed his guess, Hannah-Rose was being courted.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, Dief ambled over, moving slower these days, but still eager to be wherever the kids were. Baz could hear Damian, eight, and Caroline, five, settling down with their after school snacks. He joined the kids, Hannah-Rose and Ben at the kitchen table for a full report on all the day's adventures. It was a tradition he vowed to never abandon no matter how tired, sore or busy he got.

That night, after the kids were in bed, Baz invited both Ben and Hannah-Rose to his office. They did not know about this book; it had been a very personal project.

They did, however, know that Baz saw and spoke with the spirits of the dead. One night, over a few beers in the backyard, he'd told them about the ghosts who often dropped by for a friendly visit, and that this was a daily thing. Ben and Hannah-Rose had taken it with remarkable calm, each declaring they'd known all along there was something strange about him, and promptly laughing themselves silly.

Baz had always suspected that he'd be in trouble if Ben and Hannah-Rose ever joined forces.

Hannah-Rose eventually admitted she's suspected something like that when they'd first met, but had chosen not to think about it. Ben had shrugged and smiled like he had a secret of his own, which turned out to be the case. Bob had a lot of explaining to do if he ever came around again.

With great solemnity, he opened the box, explaining the project and how he'd just wanted the dead to be able to tell their stories.

He pulled out one of the books and showed it to them.

 _'Only a Little Bit Dead: Random Conversations with the Deceased' by Sebastian Mackenzie_.

 

 ** _[end]_**  
(well, almost)


	7. DVD extra - Author Q&A

**A dvd extra:**   
**  
_Q &A with Très Méchante_   
**

 

 **Question --- What were you thinking? Why did you organize _Elements_ this way?**

 **Answer ---** Funny you should ask. Early on, I got a note from artist Zelempa with a question about what had gone through my head when I divided the story into ‘elements’.

Huh. Well, now, that was a very interesting questions. My muse often scares me so I don’t generally probe too deeply into the whys of how a story comes together. However, it did get me to thinking about this one. My response was:

 _Let's see, what the heck went through my mind when I organized this...?_

 _The elements, in order are: Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Spirit. Each will have a quote that somehow brings in the chapter action with the element. I'd love to tell you what the quotes are, but they are from a book Ray writes in the future, quotes from stories told to him by some of the dead people he's known._

 _ **Ch. 1 Fire --** Fire is destructive, it burns yet in hindsight it also cleanses. I thought of burning stubble in a farmer's field after harvest. And that's what happened to the friendship/relationship. It flared for a moment of passion and then what was left was ashes_

 _ **Ch. 2 Earth --** I'm thinking...um...foundation, I guess. Burying the past, something new taking root. Both men have aspects of their old lives buried, and something new begins to grow in them._

 _ **Ch. 3 Air --** Breathing, life...freedom. Ray is out of the hospital, Fraser is discovering life outside the RCMP. _

_**Ch. 4 Water --** is cleansing and destructive, it is death and life. Ray is forced to confront the man who essentially ended his life - the current state's attorney. Fraser is unknowingly drawn in to this when he is hired to find a missing/presumed dead drug dealer (Ray's cover). They are reunited during this, and finally after all these years can come clean and maybe begin again..._

 _ **Ch. 5 Spirit --** About inner peace, acceptance. The past has been confronted, but now the present and future have to be addressed. It's not possible to go back, Ray  & Fraser have new lives, are different people. The issue now is can they find peace with the past and present to build a future. _

Of course, as the story was fine-tuned and the plot developed, some details changed.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- Um… Fraser does pot?! Seriously?!**

 **A. ---** Yes, seriously. And I stand by this.

In my head, Fraser had a fairly restricted upbringing – not really exposed to a lot of what urban teens might be exposed to. So, when he was finally away to Depot, it’s kind of like a kid going off to college, away from home for the first time. Some kids just carry on as they had been raised while others cut loose a bit and test boundaries. His friendship with ‘Bear’ probably helped him to ‘loosen up’ and spur him on a bit in rebellion. I don’t see a lot of hard-core drug use, here, more like experimentation.

So what changed that, as Bear pointed out, Fraser hadn’t ‘indulged’ since Depot? I suspect it had something to do with ‘Piglet’. He died just after graduation. Like his namesake, he was a bit on the naïve side and trusted the wrong person on his first assignment. What struck Fraser is that Piglet had been estranged from his father, who did not want his son in law enforcement at all. Or, if he had to go into law enforcement, why not with city police where he could at least be with his family. Piglet had other dreams and wanted to strike out on his own. They never did get the chance to reconcile.

Fraser remembered the look on the face of Piglet’s dad at the funeral and never wanted to put his own father through that. He resolved to buckle down and do his duty, as set out by his father, who was the only family he had left by that point.

Of course, by the time we meet Bear in the story, Fraser is spiralling downward, and accepts the offer of something to take the edge off. However, I don’t see this becoming a regular part of Fraser’s life, although I suspect he hasn’t walked away from it altogether, either.

And it explains the emotional attachment they seem to have to the Piglet plushie.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- So, RayK…**

 **A. ---** Uh. Yeah. Well, Ray’s twitchiness is canon. I just went from there. It seems to me a guy who throws himself into his work might have found himself in a place where he had to ‘walk the talk’. Honestly, I don’t think it’s a huge stretch.

Unless you were referring to the whole conversing with dead folks thing…?

Sometimes, Ray makes these leaps in logic/understanding. I simply asked a what-if; what if he heard voices, what if someone was giving him answers/information…? And things kind of went from there. It seems to me, from some of the comments made in the show, that perhaps Ray wasn’t your…average child.

Although, come to think of it, that whole kidnapped by aliens thing might be fun to explore another time.

 **Q. --- Actually, the question is about RayK as an author.**

 **A. ---** Oh, come on – it totally works. I mean, he has such a colourful way of speaking, a different way of looking at the world, that it makes sense. Of course, he writes hard-boiled detective novels, though. Can you imagine how he’d handle, say, a Harlequin type story?

And he does have an awesome editor, even if the poor guy has to be pacified with expensive scotch. Actually, I'm kind of sorry you didn't get a chance to meet him. There was supposed to be a big party celebrating a new book deal for more Lou Scagnetti novels, but the scene was never actually written. Sorry.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- Just out of curiosity, why are RayK and Dief together in your stories?**

 **A. ---** Probably because I ship Rayk/Dief. You’ve read some of my other stories, right? You know about werewolf!Ray/Dief and Rayk/human!Dief, right? And I’m pretty sure an argument can be made for the love between them in canon.

Don’t judge me. That’s not even the weirdest stuff out there. I’m just sayin’…

Seriously, though, it’s not in _all_ my stories. I simply like to play with different pairings now and again. And you have to admit, this is pretty different.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- Okay, back to this story. Where did the original characters come from?**

 **A. ---** Honestly, I’m not sure. I started typing and they just…showed up. And once they did, they kind of took on a life of their own.

Bear started life as a career criminal Fraser had once crossed paths with. The idea was that Fraser was going to try to strong-arm him to help find Frank Parker. But that didn’t quite sit right, and before I really knew what was happening, Bear was an old _friend_ who strayed onto the shady side of the street from time to time. Friendship felt right, and, well, the rest is history.

Hannah-Rose was only supposed to show up briefly. I was quite surprised when Ray got back from his walk and found her in the house. But there was something about them I really liked, so maybe it wasn’t all that much of a surprise. That they had a child together, also felt right. Ray would be an awesome daddy, in my humble opinion. The more I wrote about her, the more I wanted her and Ray to end up together.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- Wait – what about Ray & Fraser?**

 **A. ---** I know, I know. It’s just that I really became fond of Hannah-Rose. Nothing against Fraser. When the crunch came, it was hard to break them apart. Although, they aren’t really apart, are they? Talk about an unconventional family!

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 

 **Q. --- Is there any little snippet about the story you can share – maybe something that even your betas don’t know?**

 **A. ---** Fraser was supposed to die in chapter 4.

Yes, I’m serious. In the original story concept, Ray and Fraser did keep touch over the years, but never actually met up again, until chapter 4. They had built separate lives, although always tinged with regret. When they did reconnect mid-way through the chapter, they were finally able to heal some of the old wounds. Fraser died in an ambush at the warehouse, his last breath was to whisper Ray’s name. Well, I kept the name thing, anyway.

In the end, Fraser was to become one of Ray’s ghostly visitors. Eventually, Fraser tells Ray to go live his life, to have the life, the family he always wanted. He promises to see him again one day. The end of the story, chapter 5, sort of mirrored the ending of the movie _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_. If you haven’t seen it, please do so. Gene Tierney, Rex Harrison – what are you waiting for?!

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

 **Final author note:**

Thank you for coming on the ride. This was fun. Maybe, one day, I’ll bring back Hannah-Rose and Bear, Baz, Ben and the kids to see what became of everyone. Maybe even revisit some of the others who play much too small a part in this story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Elements of Life Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/234701) by [zelempa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelempa/pseuds/zelempa)




End file.
